


Miscellaneous is Always the Largest Category

by Robin Hood (kjack89)



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Drabble Collection, M/M, Other: See Story Notes, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2018-12-13 11:02:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 39
Words: 30,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11758467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/Robin%20Hood
Summary: A collection of drabbles/ficlets as requested on Tumblr.





	1. Prompt: "I'll Never Unsee That"

**Author's Note:**

> As the summary so aptly notes, this is going to be the place where I gather all the prompts I end up filling on tumblr...because I just know myself and I don't want to completely hijack the Barisi tag on AO3.
> 
> I mean, tempting, but...
> 
> Unless otherwise noted, all chapters are unrelated drabbles. For warnings, tags, etc., see the notes at the front of each chapter.
> 
> Other than that, you know the drill — usual disclaimer. Title is a Joel Rosenberg quote, because I am _far_ too pretentious to just call this, like, "Tumblr Prompts" or something reasonable. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Established friends-with-benefits. Ish. And briefly/vaguely NSFW.

“Det. Carisi, will you walk me out?” Barba said the words casually enough, but Carisi still frowned at him, trying to read in his expression what he really wanted. “I had a question about some particularly illegible notes of yours from the Mercer case.” **  
**

Carisi’s frown dipped into a scowl. “My handwriting’s not that bad,” he protested, though he still obediently trailed after Barba and followed him onto the elevator. “I mean, I know when I first got started it was pretty tragic, but between school and you riding my ass, I—”

Barba cut him off by kissing him, pressing him against the wall of the elevator as soon as the doors slid closed, his hand resting possessively against the side of Carisi’s neck as he licked his way into Carisi’s mouth. Carisi moaned against Barba’s mouth, his long arms wrapping around Barba’s waist as he practically melted into the kiss, though he did pull away long enough to say, his voice breathy and a little too high-pitched, “I thought you said that we couldn’t do this in the precinct.”

“Technically, we’re not in the precinct,” Barba murmured, trailing kisses down Carisi’s neck and slowly smoothing his hands down the planes of Carisi’s chest. “Besides, you know what this suit does to me.”

Carisi’s chuckle choked into a gasp as Barba’s hands continued downward. “Yeah, if memory serves, the last time I wore this suit we almost got cited for public lewdness.”

Barba smirked against the taut skin of Carisi’s neck. “Still worth it,” he said, his smirk widening when Carisi’s hips jerked against him as he palmed him through his slacks. “Besides, I don’t hear you complaining.”

Carisi glared down at him, his eyes dark with want, but before he could say anything, before they could spring apart and even put on a somewhat-decent show of straightening their clothing, the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, revealing a bored-looking Sgt. Tutuola, whose eyes widened when he saw Carisi and Barba.

“Ah, Sergeant,” Barba said, his voice stained, and his hand dropped from Carisi’s crotch as if he had been burned. Carisi’s face was bright red, and he didn’t seem capable of speech quite yet, so Barba took it on himself to say, awkwardly, “Anyway, Detective, get me those notes when — when you can”, before making a hasty exit past Fin.

Carisi could’ve sworn Barba was smirking, just a little, and he would’ve killed him if all the blood in his body wasn’t still pooled somewhere between his legs.

Fin just cleared his throat as he stepped into the elevator and pushed the button. The silence between them was thick with awkwardness and Carisi stared determinedly at the ground, unable or unwilling to look at Fin, to see the amusement he was pretty sure was written all over Fin’s face.

As soon as the door opened once more, Carisi practically bolted from the elevator, all but jogging toward his desk in his effort to get away. Fin just sighed and shook his head. “I’ll never unsee that,” he muttered before making his way to his own desk at a far more subdued pace.


	2. Prompt: "I Think You Missed Your Calling"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this pre-slash? Is this established? The world may never know.

“Let me get this straight,” Barba said, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to avoid looking at any of the assembled SVU detectives sitting in Olivia’s office. “In order to bust a sex trafficking ring that was using a male strip club to pimp out trafficked boys, you decided that the best way to do so was an undercover operation where you, Olivia, and you, Rollins, were clients, and Carisi—” He broke off, a tinge of pink in his cheeks as his eyes darted to Carisi and away again. “—And Carisi went undercover as a male stripper.” **  
**

Olivia and Carisi exchanged looks while Rollins quickly disguised what sounded almost like a laugh with an incredibly fake cough. “Ain’t nothin’ straight about this,” Fin muttered from where he was leaning against the wall of Olivia’s office, and that was all it took for Rollins and Carisi to both dissolve into giggles while Olivia pursed her lips together in a desperate attempt to keep from joining them.

Barba sighed heavily. “Please tell me that you at least got all the evidence that I need to get an arrest warrant.”

“We did,” Olivia said, a touch defensively. “I know that we may not look it at the moment, but we’re professionals. We know how to do our jobs, Counselor.”

Barba just arched an eyebrow as he looked pointedly from Olivia and Rollins, who were dressed in equally revealing and tight dresses, to Carisi, who was wearing nothing more than a pair of gold lamé booty shorts, which he was doing his best to hide under a strategically placed casefile across his lap. “Yes,” Barba said dryly. “Very professional.”

Rollins cleared her throat. “Well, uh, if y’all don’t mind, I’m gonna go put some other clothes on.”

“Good idea,” Olivia said, standing, and Barba’s eyes flickered down to her impossibly tall high heels and away again. “Fin, please fill Barba in on the details while the three of us change.”

Fin shrugged, looking amused, and Olivia and Rollins headed out of Olivia’s office while Carisi stood, a flush spreading down his chest, and he sheepishly shuffled toward the door, still clutching the case file to him like a life preserver. “Detective,” Barba said, and Carisi froze. “I’m going to need that case file.”

“Oh,” Carisi said, his blush deepening. “Right. Um. Here.”

He handed the case file out to Barba, who took it, unable to stop his smirk as he deliberately raked his eyes up and down Carisi’s body. “I think you missed your calling,” he said, his smirk almost predatory as he drank in the sight of Carisi in so few clothes. “If this whole detective and lawyer thing doesn’t work out for you, at least I don’t have to worry about how you’re going to make your money.”

Carisi looked as if he wasn’t sure if he should be offended or gratified at the backhanded compliment and settled for rolling his eyes before leaving, his hands strategically placed in front of himself and avoiding eye contact with any of the officers in the precinct.

Barba watched him leave, his smirk not fading, and Fin cleared his throat. “Hate to see him leave but love to watch him go?” he asked teasingly.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Sergeant,” Barba said, finally managing to look away from Carisi’s ass to open the case file in his hands. “Now, why don’t you fill me in on the details of the case, at least the ones that _have_ been left to the imagination?”

Still, even as Fin got into the nitty-gritty of the case, Barba found his mind far away on a pair of tiny gold lamé shorts and how much he wanted to ask Carisi to wear them to his one day.


	3. Prompt: "Can I Tell You a Secret?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barisi Honeymoon. With about .2 seconds of NSFW content.

Carisi pressed a kiss to Barba’s bare back, right between his shoulder blades, and Barba groaned and shifted. “If you’re ready to go again, you’re going to have to give me a moment,” Barba murmured sleepily. “I’m not as young as I used to be.” **  
**

“Neither am I,” Carisi reminded him, though he was smiling with the self-satisfaction of a man who probably could rally if he needed to. “But shockingly, that wasn’t what I had in mind.”

Barba rolled over to frown at him. “We’re on our honeymoon,” he reminded Carisi, rather unnecessarily, since they were tangled in a white sheet on a king-size bed in a room that opened directly out onto the beach, the warm sea breeze turning their lovemaking sweatier than usual (not that either was complaining). “What else could you possibly have in mind?”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Barba froze, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. “What secret could you possibly still be harboring from me?” he asked, clearly suspicious, and when Carisi rolled his eyes and leaned in to kiss him, he pulled away, glaring at him. “Seriously, you can’t just say something like that, especially on our honeymoon, especially when we’ve been married for all of 36 hours.”

Carisi rolled his eyes again. “Best 36 hours of my life,” he said, his smile wide, but Barba just narrowed his eyes at him. “C’mon, it’s nothing that serious.” Barba didn’t look mollified. “Look, forget I said anything, ok?”

“Oh, no you don’t,” Barba muttered, and he pushed Carisi onto his back and straddled him in one easy move, sitting on Carisi’s thighs to keep him in place. “If you’ve got a secret to tell me, Detective, you can tell me now or there will be a lot of cold showers in your immediate future.”

“Not fair,” Carisi muttered, resting his hands against Barba’s hips. “You can’t threaten to withhold sex from me on our honeymoon. It’s gotta be, I dunno, unconstitutional.”

Barba raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m so glad to see your Fordham Law education wasn’t fully wasted,” he said dryly. “And nice try, but I’m not just going to let this go so easily. So tell me…” His voice dropped and he slowly leaned down until his mouth was a breath away from Carisi’s, his hands on Carisi’s shoulders to stop him from closing the space between them no matter how desperately he might want to. “What’s your secret?”

“I hate your pink tie.”

Barba jerked away from Carisi, his expression changing from seductive to insulted so quickly that Carisi could barely follow it. “Excuse me?” he said, incredulous.

Carisi’s throat bobbed as he swallowed and attempted a shrug. “Your pink tie. I know you love it, but I hate it, Rafi. It gives me a headache whenever I look at it, I swear.”

“Why the hell would you choose now to tell me this?” Barba asked, the words forced from behind clenched teeth as he glared down at his husband with a look that could melt paint off of walls.

“I just…I didn’t want us to start our marriage with any secrets between us,” Carisi said, faltering at the look on Barba’s face. “It, uh, it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Boy, did _you_ misread that situation,” Barba muttered, running an agitated hand through his hair. “So that’s really your big secret, that you hate my pink tie?” Carisi nodded and Barba glared at him. “You know that I love that tie, right?”

Carisi nodded again. “Yeah, I know.”

“And you know that I’ve put up with some completely godawful ties from you over the years, right?”

Again, Carisi nodded, this time a little shamefaced. “I know.”

“Then let me be very clear about one thing.” Barba leaned in again, his eyes dark, and he kissed Carisi hard on the lips before telling him, his voice soft but steely, “We may be married now, but the only opinion you’re allowed to have about my ties is when and how I get to tie you up with them. Is that understood?”

Carisi swallowed, hard. “Uh, y-yes,” he stuttered, as Barba scraped his teeth possessively along the underside of his jaw, rolling his hips with almost deliberate slowness against Carisi’s. “Perfectly understood.”

“Good,” Barba said, and without warning, rolled off of Carisi, who actually whined at the sudden loss of warmth and pressure. “Oh, no,” Barba said with a smirk, when Carisi gave him puppydog eyes over his now unattended boner. “You diss my pink tie, and you get to take care of that all on your own.”


	4. Prompt: "Can We Pretend I Didn't Just Say That?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Injury mention, hurt/comfort of sorts, Barba & Benson friendship as well as Barisi.

Barba looked pissed and Olivia sighed as she brushed past him into her office. “I already know what you’re going to say—” she started, but Barba cut her off. **  
**

“Do you?” he asked, a dangerous lilt to his voice. “Because if you do, if you’ve already memorized my lecture on admissible evidence and entrapment, you’d have known that this little undercover sting of yours was going to be a waste of your time and mine before you went through with it.”

Olivia was sorely tempted to roll her eyes but settled for sitting down at her desk and rearranging some paperwork in a pointed attempt to avoid looking at him. “Not that I need to defend my actions to you, but we followed protocol.”

Barba’s lip curled into a sneer. “Was it protocol that landed Carisi in the hospital?”

“No, protocol was setting up an undercover op when we had reason to believe the girl’s life was in danger,” Olivia snapped. “What happened with Carisi was a calculated risk.”

“A _calculated_ —” Barba couldn’t even seem to choke the words out, something dark in his expression. “That’s really all you consider that?”

Olivia glared at him. “It really is,” she said dismissively. “Which is why I’m not entirely sure why you’re this angry over a failed undercover operation.”

“Because you put Carisi’s life in danger for a stunt that wasn’t even going to get you the evidence you needed!” Barba burst, his eyes flashing with anger. “If you want to gamble with your own life, Olivia, that’s fine. You don’t get to gamble with his.”

They stared at each other for a long moment before Barba sighed heavily, all the fight seeming to leave him as he slumped in the chair across from Olivia. “Is there…something you’d like to tell me, Counselor?” Olivia asked coolly.

Barba sighed again and scrubbed a tired hand across his face, and for the first time, Olivia realized just how exhausted he looked. “Can we pretend I didn’t just say that?” he asked, though the resignation in his tone meant he knew they couldn’t.

“Det. Carisi volunteered to go undercover,” Olivia pointed out evenly, leaning forward and folding her hands on top of her desk as she tried to read Barba’s expression.

“Of course he did,” Barba scoffed, though something in his face tightened at the thought. “And I know — I _know_ Carisi’s good at undercover work. He’s surprisingly smart, keeps his head when things go south, and above all—” He broke off. “He’s unattached. He doesn’t have someone waiting for him to get home at night.”

“Doesn’t he?”

Olivia asked the question mildly, keeping all hints of judgment or gloating or whatever else out of her voice, though Barba still looked at her sharply. Then he shrugged and looked away.

Though Olivia’s voice was gentle the next time she spoke, it was banded with steel. “I don’t gamble with the lives of my squad, Counselor. We knew going in that there was a chance we wouldn’t get what we needed, but we all agreed it was a risk worth taking. Carisi knew what he was doing, and he’s going to be fine.”

“He shouldn’t have been there in the first place,” Barba said softly, but Olivia knew by his expression that he was no longer angry with her over it.

“And you’ll have to take that up with Carisi.” Olivia’s tone was final, even if her expression softened as she looked at Barba. “He _is_ going to be fine. And we had backup ready in case things got out of hand.”

Barba nodded slowly. “I know,” he said, something conciliatory in his tone, and Olivia knew it was the closest she was going to get to an apology. He stood, smoothing a hand down the front of his suit in an almost nervous gesture before verifying, “He’s going to be fine?”

Olivia managed a small smile. “Yes. The doctor said it was just a sprain, and they’re only keeping him overnight to make sure he doesn’t have a concussion.” She paused before adding, “Fin and Rollins are still on the scene. I’m sure Carisi would love some company.”

“Because I have nothing better to do with my time than watch Carisi flirt terribly with the nurses,” Barba said dryly, with just a hint of his usual snark, and Olivia’s smile widened.

“I’m sure there’s someone else he’d much rather flirt terribly with,” she said sweetly.

Barba rolled his eyes. “I don’t suppose there’s any hope in getting you to forget this entire conversation ever happened,” he said resignedly.

“Not a chance,” Olivia told him. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a mountain of paperwork to deal with.”

“And I will leave you to it,” Barba said, starting toward the door, though he paused and glanced back at her. “I didn’t mean what I said before.” She looked up at him, confused, and he elaborated, “It’s not fine if you gamble with your life, Liv. Not to me.”

Olivia’s expression softened. “Go,” she commanded gently, and he gave her a soft sort of smile before disappearing.


	5. Prompt: "Can We Pretend I Didn't Just Say That?" (Redux) and "Must be a Day Ending in Y"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just have a lot of Carmen related feels.

There was a reason why Rafael Barba trusted Carmen implicitly, and it wasn’t just because she was excellent at her job. It was also because she had a knack for picking up on things that went unsaid and responding to what Barba needed seemingly before he even realized he needed it.

It’s why she knew to push his appointments the next day back by a half hour on days when court went well. It’s why she also knew to reschedule as many as she could when court didn’t go well.

It’s why she knew to never put Rita Calhoun’s calls through to Barba — he preferred to call her back so that the call was on his terms. It’s why she knew to tell Buchanan when he stopped by that Barba was gone for the day and there was no point waiting for him (this worked less well when Buchanan stopped by at the beginning of the day, but Carmen had gotten very good at staring him down until he left). It’s why she knew that Barba would need no less than three reminders that his mother had called before he’d feel guilty enough to finally call back.

It’s why she knew that Lt. Benson and Det. Carisi were allowed into Barba’s office regardless of what he was doing. It’s why she knew that if Det. Carisi lingered for more than ten minutes, she would need to hold all of Barba’s calls.

Barba valued discretion. Carmen knew that as well.

Of course, the limits of her discretion — and his — were tested when this thing, whatever it was, went from a monthly thing to a weekly thing to a seemingly daily thing. Personally, Carmen wasn’t entirely sure how either of them got any work done, but that was none of her business.

The limits of her discretion were tested even further when one day, Lt. Benson arrived at Barba’s office a half hour after Carisi had arrived and not yet left. “Is Barba in there?” Benson asked, not pausing as she continued towards the door, and Carmen shot up from her chair.

“Lieutenant, Mr. Barba is busy right now—” she started, but Benson had already paused, a strange look on her face.

“Is that — is Carisi in there?” she asked, incredulous.

“Must be a day ending in y.”

Carmen hadn’t meant to say the words out loud, and she clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes widening in horror as Benson stared at her. “So they do this often?” Benson asked.

Blushing, Carmen lowered her hand. “Can we pretend I didn’t just say that?” she pleaded.

Something softened in Benson’s expression, and she handed the file in her hand to Carmen. “Tell him I dropped this off,” she said. “And tell him that the walls of his office aren’t as thick as he thinks they are, and he owes me a drink and an explanation.”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Carmen murmured, still flushed with embarrassment.

“If he fires you, I’ll shoot him.” Benson said it in a friendly sort of way, as if she thought the threat would cheer Carmen up (surprisingly, it did. Barba was a good boss but an occasionally difficult man, and Carmen had on a few particularly bad days entertained the thought of his unfortunate demise). “You can tell him that as well.”

Carmen laughed lightly. “Thanks, Lieutenant.”

She watched Benson leave before slumping back in her seat. That had been a close call. Then again, she thought as she picked up her pen, perhaps she could leverage this into a much needed raise…


	6. Prompt: "Everything is Going to be Fine"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set post-18x7, "Next Chapter". Hurt/Comfort, nightmares, blood tw.

The first time a foot kicked him in the shin, Carisi just groaned and rolled over in his sleep. When he was kicked a second time, his eyes blinked open in confusion. “Ow,” he murmured. “Rafi, what—” **  
**

He broke off when he felt Barba thrashing in the sheets next to him and sat bolt upright, all traces of sleepiness falling away. “Rafael,” he said loudly, his hand hovering hesitantly over him, not wanting to grab him and spook him even more. “Rafael, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”

Barba’s eyes snapped open as he gasped, “Sonny…” and now Carisi did touch him, pulling him upright and gathering him into his arms, holding him as tightly as he dared.

“It was just a nightmare,” he murmured in between the kisses he pressed to Barba’s temple, stroking his back soothingly as Barba’s breathing and heart rate slowed to normal. “It was just a nightmare.”

Barba pulled back slightly, his eyes wet, and he reached up to cradle Carisi’s face with one hand, tracing his long fingers down the side of his face and Carisi flinched, knowing what Barba had dreamed, knowing that this night, like every night for the past few weeks, Barba had fallen asleep with the image of Carisi’s blood-covered face in his mind.

Only in his dream, it hadn’t been Tom Cole’s blood splattered across Carisi’s face.

“I thought—” Barba started, and Carisi closed his hand around Barba’s wrist, tugging it down so he could press a kiss to his shaking fingertips.

“I know.”

Barba just shook his head and swallowed, hard. “What if Liv hadn’t gotten there in time?”

Carisi couldn’t blame him for thinking that way. He’d had the same thought, many, many times. Besides, he remembered his own sleepless nights when he’d dreamt of Barba gunned down outside the courthouse by BX9 or attacked by a rogue CO or, hell, murdered by one of the cops on his protection detail.

Instead, he pulled Barba close again, kissing him softly before telling him, “But she did.”

“But—”

“But she did,” Carisi repeated. “I’m fine. I’m safe. You’re safe. Everything is going to be fine.”

It was the same litany he repeated to himself whenever he felt the panic rise in his own veins, and Barba’s expression twisted. “You don’t know that,” he snapped, his voice heated.

Carisi sighed. “No, he admitted. “I don’t.” He kissed Barba again, cupping his cheek and rubbing the pad of his thumb against his cheekbone. “I dunno what’ll happen tomorrow or the next day or the day after that. But for right now, right here, I’ve got you. And for the next few hours at least, everything’s gonna be fine.”

For a moment, it looked like Barba might argue more, but then he sagged against Carisi and closed his eyes. “Promise?” he asked, his voice muffled against Carisi’s chest.

“Promise,” Carisi said softly. “I love you.”

Barba hummed in agreement. “I love you, too,” he said, his voice so quiet Carisi could barely hear him.

Carisi laid back down, bringing Barba with him, unsurprised when Barba curled into him, too tightly to be asleep, and he stroked Barba’s hair. “Everything’s gonna be fine,” he repeated, a promise or a vow more to himself than to Barba.

Even if only for the next few hours, Carisi would do everything he could to make sure it was true.


	7. Prompt: Barisi Adopting a Cat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short but hopefully sweet.

“What about that one?” Carisi asked.

Barba sighed. “You've said that about every cat we’ve seen,” he said. “You can't possibly want them all.”

“Can so,” Carisi said petulantly, wrapping an arm around Barba’s waist and pulling him in for a kiss. “I happen to like cats. Apparently I have a thing for assholes who turn out to secretly be affectionate.”

“Is that so?” Barba murmured, and he had just gone to kiss Sonny again when a small _mrow_  interrupted them, and they looked down to see a gray cat winding around their ankles.

Carisi instantly bent to pick her up, grinning when she nudged his chin. “Look, Rafi,” he said delightedly. “She has your eyes!”

Green eyes met green as the cat and Barba considered each other. “Am I going to have to compete with a cat for your affection?” he asked with a mocking sigh.

Carisi rolled his eyes. “Like there's any competition,” he scoffed.

Judging by the way Carisi was cooing over the cat in his arms, Barba had the sour feeling that there was not, in fact, any competition.


	8. Family (Gen — Olivia-Centric)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Olivia's week of the [SVU Character Appreciation Weeks](https://tmblr.co/mMBuHGB6AFrbKvZZOek_VxQ) on tumblr (if you haven't participated yet, there's still time!!)
> 
> Gen, fluff.

Olivia had just finished cleaning up from breakfast, had just sat down on the couch, content to watch over Noah as he played with his Duplos on her first day off from work in over three weeks when her cellphone rang. She groaned when she saw Fin’s name on the screen. “Fin, someone better be dying,” she said in greeting.

“Nice to talk to you, too, Liv,” Fin said, though he sounded slightly chagrined when he added, “Sorry to have to call on your day off.”

Olivia sighed. “What is it?” she asked.

“Problem with the Mahoney case. Carisi did something wrong with the paperwork and Barba’s ‘bout ready to take his head off.”

“You’re sergeant now, can’t you deal with it?” Olivia asked, a little impatiently. She’d normally be much more inclined towards helpfulness, but the case they had just wrapped up had been a stressful one, and one without a particularly satisfactory resolution, despite Barba’s best efforts in court. She’d been looking forward to spending the day with Noah, not getting dragged in to mediate some kind of knock-down, drag-out fight between Carisi and Barba, especially over paperwork, of all the stupid things.

She could practically hear Fin shrug over the phone. “I’m sergeant, but you were lead on the case, and Barba seems to think you’ll be able to sort things out,” he said evenly. “Besides, I don’t want Carisi’s blood on my hands if Barba actually kills him.”

Olivia sighed again and glanced at the clock. “Can you talk them down for at least a little while?” she asked. “Lucy’s off for the day, and it really sounds like this can wait until tomorrow.”

“Just bring Noah with you,” Fin suggested. “Carisi can look after him while you sort out the paperwork. Serves him right for messing it up in the first place.”

Though Olivia managed a light laugh at that, it faded quickly. “Fine,” she agreed, with another sigh. “But you owe me for making me come in to deal with this.”

“I know,” Fin said agreeably. “I’ll buy you lunch.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Olivia said before hanging up. She looked down at Noah and sighed again. “Come on, little man,” she said. “Mommy’s got to go into work. But to make it up to you, I’ll take you out for ice cream. How’s that sound?”

Noah looked up and grinned at her. “Ice cream!” he shrieked, his enthusiasm the only thing that could possibly put a smile on Olivia’s face at that moment.

That smile had long since faded by the time she walked into the precinct, holding Noah’s hand. Carisi met them at the elevators and swept Noah up, holding him against his hip like he used to when Noah wasn’t old enough to walk on his own. “I’m sorry, Lieu,” he said as a greeting, though he was beaming at Noah.

Olivia glared at him. “From the sound of it, you should be,” she snapped. “Where is everyone?”

“Your office,” Carisi said, his own smile not fading as he tickled Noah, who giggled. 

Together, they walked into Olivia’s office, and Olivia froze when everyone shouted, “Surprise!”

Olivia took a tentative step into her office, staring around at Fin, Amanda holding Jesse, Barba, Lucy, and even Cragen and Munch, all of whom were grinning at her. Hung on the wall was a poster proudly proclaiming, “Happy 3rd Birthday, Noah!”

Barba took a step forward, handing Olivia a cup full of what looked like fruit punch. “Judging by your face, I’m assuming you had no idea,” he said, smiling, before taking a sip of his own punch and making a face like he wished it was scotch instead.

“Maybe I should be insulted that the idea of me screwing up paperwork was a good enough ruse that she didn’t question it,” Carisi said, grinning, as he settled onto the floor with Noah and Jesse.

“Hey, once the new guy, always the new guy,” Munch said with a grin.

Olivia just shook her head. “You guys…” she started, looking from the small stack of presents on her chair to the cake on her desk to the dear friends and colleagues gathered around. “I can’t believe this.”

“It was Amanda’s idea,” Fin said, slinging an arm around Amanda’s shoulders. “Though I organized it.”

“With my help,” Lucy cut in, though she was smiling.

Olivia looked at Amanda, who shrugged. “I know you couldn’t really celebrate since Noah’s birthday fell right in the middle of the trial, and I know how much how much you were looking forward to it, so…”

She trailed off, and Olivia shook her head, feeling a little overwhelmed. Half of her wanted to protest, to tell them that they all sacrificed in this job, but the other half felt more content than she had in a long time. So she settled for smiling at all of them and telling them, sincerely, “Thank you.”

“Least we could do, Lieu,” Carisi said, looking up from his position on the floor and seemingly ignoring Noah, who was running one of his toy cars through Carisi’s hair. “After all, we’re family. It’s what we do.”

“Exactly,” Fin said firmly.

Cragen cleared his throat and raised his cup of punch in a toast. “To family,” he said simply.

And there, in her office, surrounded by these people that Olivia loved, people that she may never have chosen had it been her choice, watching her son play with Lucy, Carisi and Jesse while Amanda looked on, amused, watching Barba and Fin laugh together, watching Cragen and Munch reminisce, Olivia couldn’t help but agree. “To family,” she echoed. “I couldn’t do it without you.”

“You could,” Amanda said, smiling at her.

Olivia considered it. “Maybe,” she allowed, her own smile softening as something like understanding passed between the two women, surrounded by the family they had chosen. “But I’m so glad that I don’t have to.”


	9. Prompt: "I Love You" Said Over the Shoulder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Established relationship, fluff.

The first time Carisi says it is hurried, quick. He’s just brushed a kiss over Barba’s cheek after frantically throwing what he can find of his clothes back on, a rare night at Barba’s interrupted as always by a call from Liv that there’s a case he needs to come deal with. **  
**

Barba at least is normally guaranteed a good couple hours of sleep before he has to come in and deal with it; Carisi’s never that lucky.

It’s not the first time they’ve done this, and while Barba has acted every time like it’ll be their last, he knows it won’t. He might’ve tripped and fallen into this — whatever _this_ was — with Carisi, but he’s actively made the choice to stay. The third time they stumbled back to Carisi’s apartment was the last time they had even been drunk for this, taking alcohol away as a convenient excuse.

Truthfully, Barba doesn’t want an excuse, but he’s also acutely aware that they haven’t defined anything so he hasn’t pushed it. Disclosure has been floated, but not pursued, and Barba’s fine with things as they are.

Which is why he’s surprised when, just as he’s about out the door, Carisi calls over his shoulder, “Love you!”

Maybe it’s just a friendly thing, Barba reflects, lying alone in his bed. Carisi’s affectionate enough. He probably tells all his friends that.

Because he doesn’t mean it. He _can’t_ mean it.

Even if the very thought of it sends what feels like jolts of electricity under his skin.

Even if the very thought of it leaves Barba lying awake, staring up at the ceiling until his phone rings two hours later with Liv asking him for a warrant.

* * *

 

It’s their first official date following disclosure, following the damned ‘what are we’ conversation that Barba had been dreading. As it turns out, they were boyfriends, and disclosure had gone surprisingly smoothly, so while this is their first real date, it’s also a bit of a celebration.

Or at least, it’s meant to be. Carisi looks exhausted, having spent the last two nights out doing something for a case — it’s not one of Barba’s, so he doesn’t know the details. Barba tried to cancel, but Carisi insisted, even if he was now practically nodding off over his beer at the bar.

“Carisi,” Barba sighs, his tone fond but exasperated. “Come on, let’s just go back to my apartment. I’d prefer if you didn’t fall asleep in the middle of our first date.”

Carisi’s eyes snap open. “Our first date?” he repeats, confused.

Barba raises an eyebrow at him. “Our first official date after disclosure,” he says slowly. “You knew that. That was the whole point of tonight.”

Carisi blinks slowly at him. “Oh,” he says, equally slowly. “Oh, I thought, uh…” He trails off. “Nevermind.”

Barba looks at Carisi, at the slight pink tinge of his cheeks, and his eyes narrow. “What did you think was going to happen tonight?” A sudden vice-like grip seizes his chest. “You didn’t — I mean, you weren’t expecting —”

Carisi’s eyes widen. “I just thought you were gonna ask me to move in,” he blurts. “Not, like, anything beyond that. Like marriage or whatever. Not—not that I wanna get married or anything.” He shoots Barba a hopeful look. “Not yet, anyway.”

Barba tactfully ignores the latter part of Carisi’s statement. “You want to move in together?” he asks, and Carisi blanches.

“I mean, uh, I just, uh, I thought—”

After a moment, Barba rescues Carisi from his flailing. “Of course you can move in with me,” he says, giving Carisi a genuine smile. “I mean, I figured we’d be waiting until your lease came due, but if you want to eat the fine for breaking your lease early—”

Carisi brightens and grins at Barba a little nervously. “You mean it?” he asks.

Barba rolls his eyes. “Of course I mean it,” he says impatiently. “Carisi, you practically live at my place anyway. It’s not exactly going to be a hardship to add your name to the lease.”

Carisi’s grin softens into his usual smile and Barba feels himself relax at the sight. “Well, good,” Carisi says. “Glad that’s settled.” He stands and bends to kiss the top of Barba’s head. “I’m gonna go splash some water on my face in the bathroom.”

“You’re going to what?” Barba asks.

“Gotta wake myself up,” Carisi says, backing away slowly with a grin. “I wanna be wide awake when we get home so that we can, uh, christen our bed properly.” He turns to head into the bathroom but pauses, calling over his shoulder, “I love you.”

“Yeah,” Barba says, watching Carisi disappear into the bathroom. “I love you, too.”

* * *

 

“Yeah, Bells, I’m comin’,” Carisi said, his bare chest sweat-slicked and heaving as he searches for his boxers on the floor and pointedly ignores the kisses that Barba is pressing to his spine. “Yeah, if her fever climbs any higher, call 911, ok? But I really think she’s gonna be fine. How far out is Tommy?”

He falls silent, evidently listening to whatever Bella is telling him, and Barba makes a face, knowing that Carisi is about to tell him that he has to go, knowing that he has no grounds to keep him here other than the purely selfish reason of his now-wasted boner.

Sure enough, Carisi glances over at him and mouths ‘Sorry’, even as he stands up from bed to get dressed. “Ok, Bells, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

With that, he hangs up and disappears into the closet, reemerging with sweatpants and one of Barba’s old Harvard t-shirts. “The baby’s got a fever,” he reports. “It’s not too bad, but Bella’s freaking out because Tommy’s gone for work and she’s all alone…” He trails off and gives Barba a pitying glance. “Sorry I, uh, got you riled up for nothing.”

“No you’re not,” Barba says easily, though he gives Carisi a smile to show he doesn’t mean it. “Give Bella my best, and let me know when you make it out to Staten Island.”

“I will,” Carisi promises, disappearing out of the bedroom as soon as he’s clothed. There’s a moment of silence before Carisi calls, “I love you!”

Barba rolls his eyes and sighs contentedly. “I know,” he mutters, rolling over into the warm spot left by Sonny. “I love you, too.”

* * *

 

Barba runs a nervous finger over the outline of the ring box in his pocket, watching as Carisi examines the menu with a pucker in his brow. “Whaddya think?” Carisi asks. “Steak or fish? I know fish is better for me, but I love a steak, ya know?”

“Get whatever you want,” Barba says, with a soft smile. “It’s our anniversary, after all.”

Carisi gives him a smile before saying decisively, “Steak. I’ve made up my mind.”

Barba smiles as well. “Good,” he says. “So have I.”

He takes a deep breath, about to launch into the speech he’s spent the last two weeks preparing, but Carisi’s cellphone stops him before he can even start. “Shit,” Carisi says, checking the screen. “It’s the Lieu, I gotta—”

He jerks a thumb over his shoulder, indicating that he needs to take this and probably also needs to leave, and Barba sighs, his happiness fizzling out of him. “Go,” he says, forcing a smile onto his face. “Tell Liv she owes me.”

Carisi smiles at him and quickly presses a kiss to his lips before standing and turning to leave. “I love—” he starts to say over his shoulder, but Barba’s hand darts out to hold him in place.

“Say it to me,” he commands, and when Carisi frowns at him, he repeats, “Say it to me, not over your shoulder, not rushing out the door. But to me. Because I don’t want the first time you actually tell me that you love me to be when we’re standing at the altar on our wedding day.”

A slow, amazed smile spreads across Carisi’s face, and he turns to face Barba squarely. “I love you,” he says firmly.

Barba smiles as well. “Good,” he says, pulling Carisi in to kiss him once more. “I love you, too.” He lets go of Carisi, his smile softening. “Now go save the world.”

Carisi grins and slowly backs away. “Did you mean what you said?” he asks. “About — about standing in front of the altar?”

“Go,” Barba repeats. “We’ll talk about it later.”

“I love you,” Carisi repeats. “Whether I say it to your face or not.”

Barba rolls his eyes. “Go,” he says for a third time, but he’s smiling too widely to actually mean it. Carisi does turn and leave then, and Barba pulls the ring box from his pocket and sets it down on the table, his grin turning sharp. Carisi loves him, and Barba has never been more sure of the answer to a question he’s going to ask in his life.


	10. Prompt: "I Love You" Muffled, From the Other Side of the Door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sickfic fluff. Slight **emetophobia warning.**

“Go away.”

Barba’s voice was muffled by the locked door that Carisi had just rapped lightly on with his knuckles, but not even a door could hide how pathetic Barba sounded, weak and pained, and Carisi sighed. “I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he told Barba through the door. “I brought soup. For when you’re, ya know—”

The sound of retching was Barba’s only response and Carisi winced. “I’ll just put the soup in the fridge,” he told Barba, beating a hasty retreat to the kitchen.

He got back to the bathroom door just in time to hear the toilet flush, and he knocked again, lightly. “You need anything?”

“For you to go away,” Barba said, without any real heat.

“No can do,” Carisi told him cheerfully, sinking down onto the floor outside Barba’s bathroom. “You don’t have to let me in if you don’t want, but if you want me out of your apartment, you’ll have to make me leave, and frankly, I don’t think you’re up for it.”

Barba groaned and Carisi thought he heard Barba mutter a few choice words, the nicest of which were “insufferable” and “obnoxious”. He ignored Barba’s muttering and continued, “Besides, we were supposed to be on a date tonight, so I have the whole evening free. The Lieu even promised she wouldn’t call me in unless it was an emergency.” He paused. “She sends her apologies, by the way. She’s pretty sure it must be Noah’s stomach bug from last week that you picked up.”

“I knew there was a reason I hated children,” Barba muttered darkly. “How come you aren’t sick?”

Carisi grinned. “I’m sorely tempted to make a joke about how old you are and how run down your immune system gets with age, but I’m refraining and I want you to remember that when you’re feeling better.”

Barba snorted. “Detective, I can say with certainty that I will remember that you had the opportunity to kick me when I was down and instead of doing so, you chose to tell me how you could in a bizarre attempt at brownie points.”

They both fell silent, and when the silence stretched a moment past uncomfortable, Carisi knocked lightly on the door again. “Did you fall in?” he called, trying to make a joke.

“No,” Barba groaned, sounding truly miserable. “But I think I might be dying.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Carisi said, his tone a little too dark to be kidding. He hesitated before asking, “I know you don’t want me here, though Lord only knows why, but will you at least unlock the door in case something happens and I need to get you outta there and to a hospital? I’d really rather not have to kick your bathroom door in.”

There was another long stretch of silence before Carisi heard the soft click of the lock, and he let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. “Thanks,” he said, relief coloring his tone.

Barba said something, but it was too quiet for Carisi to hear and he frowned at the door. “What?”

“I do want you here,” Barba repeated. “I shouldn’t, because you have infinitely better things to do with your time, but I do.”

“Then why are you trying to make go away?” Carisi asked, his brow furrowed.

Barba sighed heavily, accompanied by a soft thunk that suggested he had leaned his head back against the bathroom door. “I don’t want you to see me like this,” he admitted. “All gross and old and pathetic…”

He trailed off and Carisi rolled his eyes but filed away his initial retort for later, when Barba was feeling better and might again appreciate snark. “Rafi, I don’t care that you’re gross and pathetic,” he said patiently. “I’m here for the long haul, and that means seeing you when you’re at your worst as well as your best.”

“In sickness and in health?” Barba asked, as snarkily as he could manage.

But Carisi just nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Exactly.”

After a long moment, Barba told him softly, “I love you.”

The words may have been muffled by the bathroom door, but that didn’t mean Carisi’s heart didn’t leap the way it did every time he heard Barba say those three words. “I know,” he said, as casually as he could manage. “I love you, too.” He paused. “Vomit and all.”

Barba groaned. “Maybe don’t mention vomit right now,” he said weakly.

Carisi laughed. “Deal,” he said easily.

Barba hesitated before adding, reluctantly, “And you can stay, I guess.”

“I was already planning on it,” Carisi told him, but his voice was gentle. “I’m not goin’ anywhere. I promise.”


	11. Prompt: "I Love You" Said Loudly, so Everyone Can Hear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alcohol and slight depression warnings.

“Detective Carisi.” **  
**

Barba’s smile was wide and wicked, his eyes glinting in the dim light of the bar, but even his smirk couldn’t quite hide the fact that he slurred slightly on Carisi’s name. Carisi’s own smile faltered slightly. After the case they’d had, a hard loss in a particularly vicious he-said, she-said, he had fully expected for Barba to drink his sorrows away, but Barba seemed long past the point of sorrows

“C’mon,” Barba said, patting the barstool next to him. “Sit. Drink. You’re a few behind.”

It occurred to him, as Barba tugged Carisi onto the barstool next to his and slung an arm around his shoulders, that he had never really seen Barba drunk. Drinking, sure, even slightly tipsy — hell, the first time he’d gone with Barba back to his place, they’d both been tipsy. But Barba never let his guard down this much, especially not in public.

That alone told Carisi how far gone Barba was.

Barba propped his chin on his hand and smiled at Carisi. “So what’re you drinking?” he asked. “Shots? You wanna do shots, Carisi?”

“No thanks, Counselor,” Carisi said, nodding to the bartender and muttering, “Water, for both of us.”

“Ah, c’mon, Carisi,” Barba said with an exaggerated sigh. “Have a little fun.”

Carisi gave him an even look. “I think you’ve probably had enough fun for the both of us,” he said firmly, pressing one of the glasses of water into Barba’s hand. “Drink some water and then I’m taking you home. It’s been a long day.”

Barba snorted and rubbed a hand over his face, his smile disappearing. “It has been a long day,” he agreed, looking exhausted. “Long day, long week, long month…” He trailed off and forced a smile back onto his face as he leered at Carisi. “Long boyfriend, if you know what I mean.”

Carisi rolled his eyes. “Normally the lecherous old man routine works for me, Rafi, but not here, not now.”

The smile slid off of Barba’s face. “Then what do you want, Carisi?” he asked, sounding tired and upset and everything Carisi had expected when he had gotten Rita Calhoun’s text advising him that Barba was attempting to drown himself in scotch. “You want to dissect every misstep of this goddamn trial? Because I already did that somewhere around drink 4. You want to ask me why I even took the case in the first place? That was the topic of conversation at drink 6. Oh, or perhaps you’d like to call me into your office and tell me that you expect more of me, or at the very least, you expect me to take cases that I can actually win — the DA beat you to that.”

His voice had grown in volume as he had gone on, and Carisi winced at the vitriol in his words, acutely aware that people were beginning to stare at them. “Keep your voice down,” he told Barba, his own voice calm, soothing, but Barba wanted no part of it.

“What, are you embarrassed by your drunk, loser boyfriend?”

Barba practically flung the words in Carisi’s face, and Carisi flinched, biting back his initial instinct to comfort Barba, to tell him that he was anything but a loser, that Carisi had been more proud of him than ever today when Barba had faced down the jury straight-backed and defiant as they read their verdict. He knew Barba didn’t want to hear it now, and the last thing he wanted was for Barba to twist his feelings into something they weren’t. “The only one you’re embarrassing is yourself,” he said instead, struggling to keep his voice even and controlled. “Now you can either come home with me or I’m calling you an Uber, but I’m not doing this with you here.”

For one long moment, Barba just glared at him, and Carisi shrugged, pulling out his phone so that he could order an Uber for him. Suddenly, Barba’s hand shot out, closing around Carisi’s wrist, and Carisi glanced up at him, Barba’s expression inscrutable. “I love you, you know,” Barba said, his voice still several decibels too loud, as if he didn’t care that the entire bar could still hear him. “But for the life of me, I can’t understand why you would ever love me back.”

Carisi stared at him, completely taken aback by the words that had just come out of Barba’s mouth. “Are you…are you serious right now?” he asked, his voice cracking, and when Barba just shrugged, Carisi twisted his wrist out of Barba’s grip so that he could reach out and take Barba’s hand in both of his. “Listen to me,” he said, his voice low, “today may have been a loss, but it was just one loss. You’ve had so many wins and gotten justice for so many people who never even had a chance at it.”

Barba shook his head, but Carisi continued without letting him interrupt. “You wanna know why I love you? Because you could be sitting right now in the corner office of some high-rise building drinking scotch out of a crystal decanter, feet up on your desk and raking in a couple million a year, and instead you’re here, drunk, yeah, but drunk because all you wanted was to help someone.” His voice softened. “And I love you because tomorrow, when your hangover recedes, I know you’re gonna go back to your office and work on getting justice for the next victim.”

There was something unreadable but impossibly soft in Barba’s expression as he looked at Carisi. “I want to kiss you,” he told him.

“What are you waiting for, my permission?” Carisi asked, with the first genuine smile he’d worn since setting foot in the bar that evening.

“No,” Barba said, smiling slightly as well. “I’m drunk and there seems to be two of you and I’m not sure which one I’m supposed to kiss.”

Carisi rolled his eyes and leaned in to kiss Barba on the forehead. “C’mon,” he said, his voice rough. “Let’s get you home before you say something else you’ll regret tomorrow morning.”

Barba let Carisi pull him to his feet and help him put his jacket on. “I love you,” he repeated, as Carisi wrapped an arm around him and steered him towards the exit. “And I’m not going to regret this in the morning.” He considered it. “Well, maybe a little.”

Carisi just shook his head. “Well, you’ll have to let me know when you wake up in the morning.”

Barba frowned at him. “Why don’t you come home with me and find out for yourself?” he asked.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Carisi said. “Not tonight.”

“Not like that,” Barba said impatiently. “I mean — just come home with me, Carisi. Please.”

“Fine,” Carisi sighed. “But if you regret it in the morning, it’s your fault, not mine.”

Barba glanced up at him with a small smile. “I won’t,” he promised.

“Good,” Carisi said, pressing a kiss to the top of Barba’s head. “Cuz I might.”


	12. Prompt: "I Love You" Said as we Huddle Together, the Storm Raging Outside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre-slash/developing relationship.

Barba was running late for drinks with Olivia. Barba was running late for drinks with Olivia, and had just realized that he had a stain on his shirt from lunch that he apparently hadn’t noticed and now it had undoubtedly set. Barba was running late, with a stain on his shirt, and it had decided to start pouring rain as soon as he was 50 feet outside of 1 Hogan Place. **  
**

Oh, and he had left his umbrella in his office. Just to add a cherry on top.

Barba stared up at the rain, feeling like each drop was a personal insult. “This day couldn’t possibly get any worse.”

“Counselor!” Carisi called, jogging towards him, the collar of his coat turned up against the rain, and Barba sighed.

“Evidently it can.” He squinted through the rain at Carisi. “Detective. How can I help you?”

Carisi grinned at him. “You look like a drowned cat, Counselor. I was swinging by your office to see if you needed any help going over notes on the Rodgers case, but it looks like you’re on your way out.”

Barba gave him a look. “Astute observation, Detective,” he snapped, well aware that his hair was slowly plastering itself against his head, and well aware that he looked like an idiot. “Now unless you’ve got an umbrella you can offer me, you’d best be on your way.”

“I don’t have an umbrella, sorry,” Carisi said with a shrug, and Barba’s mood was soured even further at the observation that Carisi’s hair somehow managed to stay in place, despite the pouring rain. “But I can do you one better.”

“How so?” Barba asked, eyes narrowed.

In lieu of answering, Carisi reached out and tugged Barba to him, tucking him in against his side, and Barba was a little mortified to realize that he was short enough that Carisi could lean over him and somehow block the worst of the rain. 

“This is utterly ridiculous,” Barba muttered, but he was suddenly warm despite the chill of the rain and he knew it had everything to do with Carisi’s arm wrapped around his shoulders. 

“Yeah, but you’re warmer and drier now, aren’t you?” Carisi said cheerfully. “Now, where’re you headed?”

Barba wanted to crane his neck to look up at Carisi but instead huddled closer against him. “Forlini’s,” he said with a sigh, figuring if they were going to do this, they might as well get it over with.

However, halfway through walking to Forlini’s in relative silence — more silence than Barba thought Carisi was capable of, to be sure — the pouring rain turned into something closer to a torrential downpour, so much so that not even Carisi’s lanky form could keep Barba from getting soaked. “C’mon,” Carisi called above the storm, tugging Barba toward the closest storefront, and they sheltered underneath the faded awning of a bodega.

“This is actually the worst day ever,” Barba said forlornly, staring out at the rain, his hands too numb to take his phone out and text Olivia to let her know he’d be late.

Carisi nudged him, his grin not even dampened by the storm. “Ah, c’mon, Counselor, surely it can’t be that bad. Or do I have to take it personally?”

Barba gave him a sideways glance and decided to throw him a bone. “Believe it or not, Detective, and I will deny it if ever you bring it up again, you may be the one bright spot in this hellhole of a day.”

Carisi’s grin widened. “Stay here,” he said, ducking into the bodega before Barba could ask him where he would possibly be going. After a long moment, he reappeared, two cups of coffee in hand. “Here,” he said, handing one cup to Barba. “I know it’s not scotch, but — it’ll help.”

Barba’s face lit up as he accepted the steaming cup of coffee, and he took a gulp, not caring if the liquid scalded the inside of his mouth. “I love you,” he murmured gratefully, closing his eyes as the warmth spread through his body.

“Nah,” Carisi said dismissively, and Barba glanced up at him, the blush on his cheeks not fully from the warmth of the coffee. “When you’re warm and dry and have an umbrella, you’ll forget all about me.”

Barba’s expression softened. “I somehow doubt that I will, Detective.” He paused, considering inviting Carisi to join him for drinks, or to abandon the idea of drinks altogether in favor of dinner or something else, but settled instead for saying, “Thank you.”

Carisi smiled at him. “My pleasure, Counselor.” He checked his watch and made a face. “I gotta go — you good here?”

“I think I’ll be able to take care of myself,” Barba assured him.

Carisi ducked his head and nodded, slowly backing away into the rain. “I’ll see you later.”

He didn’t pitch it like a question, but Barba nodded nonetheless. “I’m sure you will, Detective.” As he watched Carisi jog away through the rain, despite the warmth of the coffee in his hands, he couldn’t help but miss the warmth of Carisi’s arm around his shoulders.


	13. Prompt: "I Love You" Whispered in Your Ear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Established relationship, fluff.

Maybe it was the absurdly early hour, since he had an eight o’clock meeting that he needed to get into the office to prep for, but judging by his reflection, Barba looked rough. He prodded the bags underneath his eyes and turned sideways, examining his softening stomach critically.

He sighed and leaned in closer to the mirror, freezing when he saw the newest crop of gray hairs that had seemingly sprouted along his temples overnight. “Jesus,” he huffed, his fingers twitching towards the drawer where he kept his tweezers, tempted to pluck the hairs out, even with his mother’s voice nagging in the back of his head, _“If you pluck a gray hair, more will grow back.”_

Barba might even have gone through with it if it wasn’t for a pair of arms snaking around his bare waist from behind and a pair of full lips pressing against his cheek. “Morning,” Carisi said, his voice a low rumble as he dipped to press a kiss to Barba’s shoulder. “What’re you doing up so early?”

“Early meeting,” Barba told him, looking at his reflection once more before sighing and turning to face Carisi. “With a side helping of existential angst.”

Carisi’s brow creased. “Existential crisis?” he asked. “Over what?”

Barba sighed and gestured dismissively at himself. “Everything,” he muttered. “Including the delightful gray hairs I just found.”

Carisi just blinked at him. “Really?” he asked, amused. “You wanna complain to me about gray hair?”

“That’s different,” Barba said, rolling his eyes even as he reached up to run his fingers through Carisi’s hair, which was sticking out in every direction from both sleep and sex the night before. “Your gray hair makes you look distinguished, and less like you’re ten years younger than me. Mine just makes me look old.”

Carisi started to reply but instead yawned widely. “Nuh-uh,” he managed, and Barba raised an eyebrow.

“I see you’re unusually articulate this morning,” he said archly.

Carisi just rolled his eyes before leaning in and kissing him. “Too tired to be articulate,” he murmured, his lips ghosting against Barba’s.

Barba kissed him back before pushing him gently away. “If you’re too tired to be articulate, you’re too tired to go chasing bad guys. Go back to bed and get a few more hours sleep. Just because I’m up this early doesn’t mean you have to be.”

With that, he made as if to slip past Carisi to go get dressed, but instead, Carisi grabbed him by the waist and crowded him against the wall, kissing him deeply and licking into his mouth as his hands traced up the planes of Barba’s bare chest. Barba’s head tipped back as Carisi moved his mouth to Barba’s neck, kissing and biting at the taut flesh. “Carisi,” he managed breathlessly, regretting immensely what the next words out of his mouth had to be.

Carisi stilled and pulled back just far enough to meet his eye, a crooked smile on his face. “You gotta go to work?” he guessed.

“I wish I didn’t have to,” Barba said honestly, if only because this had seemed like a particularly promising start to a very different morning.

“Yeah, me too,” Carisi said with a sigh. He leaned in to kiss Barba once more before leaning over to press a kiss to Barba’s temple, directly over the gray hairs. “I love you,” he whispered in Barba’s ear. “Even when you’re actually old, even when all your hair goes gray — I’ll still love you.”

Barba turned his head to capture Carisi’s lips once more. “And I love you,” he said, honestly. “Always and forever.”

Carisi grinned, his eyes crinkling. “You’re a sap when you’re up early.”

“Shut up or I’ll take it back,” Barba said, though he was smiling, and he left the bathroom to get dressed without giving his reflection a second glance.


	14. Prompt: "I Love You" Said Over and Over Til it's a Senseless Babble

Late one night, Carisi rested his head on Barba’s chest and told him, voice slightly muffled, “I love you."

Barba’s hand stilled in Carisi’s hair for just a moment, just long enough for Carisi to twist slightly in a mostly vain effort to look up at him, to see if something was wrong. But instead of answering, Barba leaned down and kissed Carisi, the kiss soft and sweet and perfect.

And no substitute for the three words that Carisi wanted to hear most of all.

In the roughly six months since they had been doing this, this thing that had started as casual and grown into something more erring on the side of permanent, Carisi had told Barba that he loved him eighteen times. Not that he was keeping count, or anything — he could just remember every instance perfectly because each had been a wasted opportunity where Barba had not responded in kind.

The first time had been on a Tuesday, early in the morning, not even a week after Barba had suggested that they stop pretending that they weren’t going to wind up going home together. Carisi had been rushing around Barba’s bedroom, trying to find where he had flung his tie the night before, having gotten called in early for a case, while Barba’s heavy breathing indicated he had fallen back asleep after Carisi’s phone woke him up.

Carisi had found his tie, had tied what he later realized was a particularly lopsided half-Windsor, and had bent to kiss Barba’s forehead. “I love you,” he whispered, assuming that Barba was asleep and couldn’t hear him.

Instead, his green eyes fluttered open and Carisi blushed, grateful for the dim light, which hid the worst of his embarrassment. “Good morning to you, too,” Barba had said with a tiny, tired smirk, and kissed Carisi before yawning and telling him, “Have fun at work.”

And Carisi had left for work mostly relieved that Barba hadn’t made a big deal of it.

But Carisi had also been slightly emboldened by Barba’s lack of freak out over him saying those three words, and while he wasn’t going to pepper every conversation with them, he took it as tacit permission to say it when the situation merited it.

Sometimes they were big moments — when he was almost shot by Tom Cole, for instance, when Carisi had gone straight from the precinct to Barba’s office, needing to feel someone warm and solid and _alive_ in his arms just to forget the horrible moment where he had almost lost everything. He had gone with the intention of holding onto Barba and never letting go, but it was Barba who ended up holding him, nestled onto the couch in Barba’s office, his strong, solid arms wrapped firmly around Carisi, holding him so tightly that Carisi might’ve made a joke about it in any other situation.

He hadn’t, far too preoccupied with the hammer of the heartbeat in his chest, with Barba’s hand tracing the side of his face that had been flecked with Tom Cole’s blood, with the frantic, pained look in Barba’s eyes as he too confronted the idea that he might’ve lost Carisi.

“I love you,” Carisi had whispered, shaking like a leaf, grateful beyond belief that he had gotten the opportunity to say it again, terrified beyond belief that he had almost lost that chance.

And Barba had just held him even tighter.

Other times, Carisi said it at small moments, just because he could: on one of their very rare nights off, when Barba would take him out to a nice dinner; pressing Barba against his apartment door, unable to keep his hands off of him for a second more; and once during a court recess, so quietly that Barba could barely hear him, just because a judge kept throwing out key evidence and with Barba’s case crumbling in front of their very eyes, he thought Barba needed to be reminded of it.

And Barba had managed a small smile, which was honestly as much as Carisi could’ve hoped for.

But it had been six months now, and not once had Barba told him that he loved him. They had signed the proper disclosure forms, everyone who needed to knew about them, and still Barba withheld those three words.

Carisi was tired of waiting for him to say them.

So he broke off from the kiss and propped himself up on his elbow, frowning down at Barba. “Why won’t you say it?” he asked.

Barba blinked, confusion furrowing his brow. “Why won’t I say what?” he asked.

“That you love me.”

Barba’s brow furrowed even more. “What do you mean?”

Carisi scowled, assuming that Barba was being deliberately obtuse. “I _mean_ , it’s been six months now, and you still haven’t told me that you love me.”

Barba looked taken aback for a moment before he schooled his expression into something more neutral. “I’ve told you that I love you, I know I have.”

“No, you haven’t,” Carisi said, as patiently as could, all things considered. “I tell you all the time — well, maybe not all the time, but you know what I mean. And every time I tell you, you change the subject, or you kiss me, or whatever. And I wanna hear you say it.”

Barba rolled his eyes. “Of course I love you,” he scoffed, but Carisi’s scowl deepened.

“Don’t say it like that,” he snapped. “I wanna hear you say it for real.”

Barba rolled his eyes again but his expression softened when he looked at Carisi. He reached out to tug Carisi over until he was straddling Barba, and Barba rested his hands on Carisi’s hips. “I love you,” he repeated, before pulling Carisi down and kissing his lips gently. “I love you,” he said again, pressing a kiss to first one corner of Carisi’s mouth, then the other, and Carisi couldn’t help but smile at that.

“I love you.”

A kiss on Carisi’s cheek.

“I love you.”

Barba’s lips moved down to kiss along Carisi’s jaw, each ‘I love you’ more breathless than the next, the words melting into each kiss, each scrape of Barba’s teeth against Carisi’s skin.

“I love you.”

Barba sucked almost languidly on Carisi’s earlobe, smirking when Carisi shivered. “I love you,” he said, his lips moving against Carisi’s ear with the simple declaration.

“I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you—”

He might’ve continued into infinity, tracing his fingers up Carisi’s sides, the soft murmur of each ‘I love you’ blurring together until the words that Carisi had so longed to hear became almost senseless in their repetition.

And the last thing Carisi wanted was for those words to lose their meaning.

So he captured Barba’s lips with his own, cutting off the litany of ‘I love you’s the only effective way he knew how. “You know, I only needed to hear you say it once,” he told Barba when they broke apart, but he couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his face as he looked down at the man who loved him.

Barba smirked. “Does that mean I never have to say it again?” he asked, his smirk disappearing into a scowl when Carisi jabbed him in the stomach in retaliation. “You know, a simple ‘no’ would’ve sufficed.”

“Shut up,” Carisi said, kissing him again. “You know you love me.”

Barba’s expression softened. “I do,” he confirmed, resting his hands on Carisi’s hips. “And now you know I do, too.”


	15. Kvetching (Gen — Fin-Centric)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Fin's week of the [SVU Character Appreciation Weeks](https://svucharacterappreciation.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.
> 
> Gen, with just a hint of Barisi if you want to read it that way.

Fin didn’t know when exactly it happened, because it had to have crept up on him, or he would’ve noticed and put a stop to it. **  
**

All he knew is, he used to be able to eat his lunch in peace. Now? Not so much.

Now, every time it seemed he got even a minute to himself, he was instead interrupted by Carisi, Rollins or both, who insisted on coming to him with their complaints. He didn’t know what he had done to suddenly seem approachable and like he cared, though he desperately wished he did so that he could take it back.

One day, in just the latest in a long line of interrupted lunches, he had barely even had a chance to sit down in the breakroom when Carisi strolled in and made a beeline for the coffee machine. “God, I’m tired,” Carisi sighed, running a hand over his face as he waited for his coffee. “Did I tell ya I’m babysitting for my sister Bella? I mean, I love my niece, I really do, but she is a _handful_.”

“A handful?” Rollins repeated as she joined them in the breakroom. “You should have to watch Jesse. I mean, I know they call it the terrible twos for a reason, but I couldn’t tell you the last time I got a full night’s sleep. Besides, you at least get to give her back when you’re done with her. I’ve got Jesse forever, and as much as I love my daughter, she’s _killing_ my social life.”

Fin stood, quickly, before this conversation could turn into something more than he wanted to hear. But before he could make his escape, Olivia poked her head in. “Carisi?” she asked. “I’ve got a file that needs to go over to Barba, and—”

“I’ll do it,” Fin said quickly, drawing stares from all three of his colleagues. “Need to stretch my legs.”

Before Olivia could say anything, her eyebrow arched and a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, Fin snatched the case file from her hand and booked it towards the elevator. It was only when the doors slid closed that he breathed a sigh of relief.

Some days, he really missed Munch.

It wasn’t that he disliked his current crop of coworkers, but he and Munch had always had a friendship that didn’t involve Munch complaining about every facet of his life ( _“I don’t complain,” Munch had told him once. “I kvetch. There’s a difference”_ ).

But at least Barba was unlikely to start complaining about the intimate details of his life.

Or so Fin thought, anyway, until he walked into Barba’s office only for Barba to glance up at him, his brow furrowed. “Where’s Carisi?” he asked in lieu of a greeting.

“Good to see you, too,” Fin said, giving Barba a look as he handed him the case file. “I volunteered to bring you this. Needed to get out of the precinct for a moment.”

Barba snorted and shook his head. “I can’t imagine why,” he muttered before giving Fin a searching look. “Do your coworkers ever just...drive you up the wall?”

Fin laughed and shook his head. “It’s ok, Counselor, I know who you’re talking about. You can say Carisi.”

Barba rolled his eyes and huffed a sigh. “He’s just…” He trailed off, searching for the right word, and Fin nodded, feeling sudden companionship with the ADA.

“Yeah,” he said, sitting down in the chair across from Barba’s desk. “I know what you mean.”

Look, Fin liked Carisi just fine, and liked him even more after he’d stopped with the whole overeager puppy dog routine. But that didn’t change the fact that Carisi didn’t seem to understand the value of silence, and had taken on Fin as someone he felt close enough with to talk to about every single aspect of his life.

And, ok, Rollins did the same thing, but Rollins needed someone to talk to and Fin couldn’t help but feel a little protective of her.

He realized that he had completely tuned Barba out and tuned back in just in time to hear Barba rant, “And then just when I think we’re getting somewhere in our — in whatever this is, he has to go and say something completely _asinine_ —” and he had the sudden realization that he and Barba had vastly different complaints about Carisi.

And frankly, Fin had zero desire to hear any more of Barba’s. He made a show of pulling out his phone as he interrupted Barba. “I gotta go,” he said quickly. “Liv just texted — we got a thing…”

He trailed off, but somehow, Barba bought his half-assed excuse. “Of course,” Barba said, suddenly formal. “And, uh, Sergeant, I would appreciate if what I said here stayed here—”

“I’ve already forgotten it,” Fin promised before he hastily left Barba’s office.

All he had wanted was a half hour of freedom from the various complaints of the people he had to work with, but apparently, even that was too much to ask for.

Luckily, when he got back to the precinct, a case kept everyone busy for the rest of the day, and it was late in the evening when he poked his head into Liv’s office. “You headed home soon?” he asked.

“Shortly,” Liv said, giving him a smile. “You look tired.”

Fin sighed and walked into Olivia’s office so that he could all but collapse on the couch. “It’s been a long day,” he muttered.

Liv laughed lightly. “You’re telling me,” she said, leaning back in her seat with a sigh. “I just got off the phone with Noah’s daycare, and—”

Fin groaned and cut her off. “Not you, too.” When Liv just frowned at him, Fin sighed and asked, “Did I do something to make the squad think that I want to hear all about their problems?”

For a moment, Liv just stared at him, then she laughed, a genuine, if slightly surprised, laugh. “Welcome to being a sergeant,” she said, favoring Fin with a grin. “Believe it or not, it’s good thing, Fin — it means that your squad trusts you.”

Fin made a face. “Yeah, but do they have to trust me _this_ much?”

Liv laughed again and shook her head. “Well, you could always take up conspiracy theories,” she suggested jokingly. “That helps keep people from sharing their most intimate secrets.”

Fin thought back on all the various conversations that he and Munch had over the years. “Nah,” he said, smiling slightly. “I don’t think it does.”

“Anything in particular about the squad that I need to be worried about?” Liv asked, glancing at Fin over the edge of her reading glasses.

For a moment, Fin considered telling her all about their complaints, but then he realized that his squad trusted him and there was no reason to loop Olivia in, especially since none of their complaints were work-based at the moment. “Nah, I can handle it,” he said instead, feeling slightly better about his unwilling role on the team. “Night, Liv,” he said, standing.

“You going home?” Liv asked.

Fin shook his head. “Gonna call Munch, see if he wants to get a drink.” He smiled. “I’ve got some kvetching to do.”


	16. Prompt: "I Love You" Said to Someone Else

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really established, not really developing, not really...well, not really happening.
> 
> Angsty-ish.

Barba schooled his features into a scowl as he made his way into his office. “Detective,” he said loudly, “I see you’re now letting yourself into my office without permission. Please, make yourself comfortable.” **  
**

Carisi had the audacity to hold up a finger, telling Barba to wait as he finished his phone call. “Uh huh, uh huh, yeah I gotta go. That sounds good. Yeah, I’ll talk to you later. Love you, bye.” He hung up and gave Barba a slightly sheepish smile. “Sorry about that.”

Barba just rolled his eyes as he crossed behind his desk, reaching up to loosen his tie. “So who was on the phone?’ he asked, trying to keep his voice casual. “A certain Miss 34B?”

Carisi flushed slightly at that and looked away. “Oh, uh, you heard about that, huh?” he asked, more rhetorically than anything. They both knew how the NYPD and DA office rumor mill worked. “Uh, actually it was my ma. I’m supposed to be going to dinner with my parents and—”

He broke off, his flush deepening, and Barba glanced up at him, amused. “You can say her name, you know,” he said. “I promise I won’t go divulging your secret to your colleagues, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not,” Carisi said, a little awkwardly. “I just, uh, I didn’t want you…”

He trailed off, but Barba understood what he meant, his own smile slipping off his face, replaced by something more grim. “Didn’t want to hurt my feelings, Detective?” he asked, struggling to keep his voice light but unable to fully stop his sneer. “That’s noble of you. But saying the name of whatever woman you’re currently dating isn’t quite enough to hurt my feelings.”

It wasn’t.

Barba was a big boy, after all, and had a smart mouth that routinely got him into trouble. He’d developed a thick skin seemingly since birth.

What _did_ hurt Barba was the fact that Carisi was standing six feet away from him, his desk in between them like a buffer, when it used to be that Carisi couldn’t wait to invade his personal space, to perch on the edge of his desk or stand several inches too close for two men who were just colleagues.

Just colleagues didn’t stand so close together that one could practically hear the other’s heart beat. Just colleagues stood like they were standing now, six feet apart, Barba hands resting lightly on his desk, Carisi’s tucked in his pockets.

Carisi ducked his head and lifted his shoulders in a stiff shrug. “I dunno why I’m bothering,” he mused, his voice sharp. “It’s not like I’m the one who ended things.”

“Nor did I,” Barba said, his tone measured, careful, with just enough warning that Carisi didn’t want to carry down this road.

But instead, Carisi looked up and met his eye, his jaw tightening. “No, you just refused to let it begin.”

Barba bit off his automatic retort because he didn’t want to get into this, not again. He’d been over it in his head so many times that he thought he might drive himself crazy with the replay: how Carisi had kissed him one night, cupping his cheek with his warm, soft hand; how Barba had wrapped an arm around Carisi’s slim waist, marvelling at how solid the other man felt in his arms; how Carisi had pushed him against the wall, his kiss and his touch turning hungry and desperate.

And above all, replayed constantly, how Barba had pushed him away, had told him to wait, to stop. That they shouldn’t do this. That they _couldn’t_ do this.

Barba didn’t need to replay the look on Carisi’s face when he said that. That image was forever burned into his mind, it seemed.

And while Carisi might’ve been aiming for anger now, there was a little bit of that expression peeking out, the hurt and the sadness and everything that Barba had wanted to avoid in the first place.

“I assume you came here for a reason, Detective,” Barba said, desperate to move the conversation back on track. “The Vasquez case, I’m assuming?”

But Carisi refused to take the gracious switch into a different conversation, instead taking a step toward Barba, his expression unreadable. “You don’t get to act like this,” he said, and if Barba had cared less about self-preservation, he might’ve fired back a flippant question about how, exactly, he was acting. “You had your chance.”

So Barba had. And he hadn’t taken it. And personally, he thought he was getting quite good at tamping down his bitterness whenever any mention of Carisi’s current girlfriend was brought up.

He’d had his chance. And he’d had very good reasons to not take it.

Or so he told himself.

But then Carisi took another step closer, something in his expression softening. “Rafi,” he started, his voice quiet, and Barba sucked in a breath, unable or unwilling to look away.

Whenever Carisi looked at him like that, Barba had difficulty remembering the myriad reasons he had for turning Sonny down, and it took everything he had not to close the space between them, to kiss Sonny again, to hold him the way that he should have before it ever even crossed his mind to let him go.

But just because he couldn’t remember them didn’t mean the reasons didn’t exist.

And it certainly didn’t mean that they weren’t valid.

So instead, Barba took another deep breath and looked down at the case file on his desk without really seeing it. “The Vasquez case,” he repeated, his voice sounding strange and distant even to his own ears. “Do you have the witness statements for me?”

Carisi hesitated, something in his expression flickering before he forced it back to neutral. “Yeah,” he said, nodding towards the manila folder he’d assumedly set on Barba’s desk earlier. “It’s all there.”

“Thank you, Detective.” Barba’s voice was soft, and a little sad, and probably conveyed more than he meant it to, how much he wished things could be different, how he wished it could be him meeting Carisi’s parents for dinner, how he’d give anything to see those dimples deepen the way they used to when Carisi smiled at him.

Maybe it was better this way.

It’s what he told himself as he sat down in his desk chair, watching as Carisi left, a line of tension in his shoulders that certainly hadn’t been there before this entire thing had happened. But Carisi got to walk out of Barba’s office to meet up with his girlfriend, with someone to hold through the night and apologize to when a case called him in well before the sun crept over the horizon. Someone to introduce to his parents and his sisters, someone to bring to the legendary Carisi family reunions. Someone to love the way that maybe, just maybe, Carisi might once have loved Barba (the way Barba would never admit to loving Carisi).

Barba had no one.

And he had chosen this, yes, had turned down a chance at happiness for reasons that he knew existed but still eluded him as the door to his office closed behind Carisi, but that didn’t make it any easier.

Still, maybe it was better this way.

Barba just wished he knew for whom it was supposed to be better.


	17. Prompt: Two Miserable People Meeting at Wedding AU

“Scotch,” Barba said dully. “Neat. Make it a double.”

Someone leaned against the bar next to him, but Barba didn’t even glance over, just taking a swig of the scotch set in front of him. “Here I thought weddings were supposed to be a celebration.”

Barba did glance over then, to arch an eyebrow at the man next to him, a slim, blond man resplendent in a crisp vest and matching tie. “When the groom is _your_  ex, you’ll get to decide how much of a celebration you want it to be.”

He drained his scotch and gestured for another as the man next to him almost doubled over in laughter. “Christ,” he said, wiping his eyes. “You — and him? Jesus, wait til I tell Teresa.”

“Teresa?” Barba repeated. “You mean, the bride?”

“Yeah,” the man said, still laughing. “She’s my sister.”

He took a swig of whatever clear liquor was in a glass in front of him before holding out his hand for Barba to shake. “Dominick Carisi, Jr. Call me Sonny.”

Barba instantly decided he would never do so. “Rafael,” he returned, shaking Carisi’s outstretched hand. “Rafael Barba.”

“Barba?” Carisi repeated, with interest. “The Manhattan ADA?”

Barba raised an eyebrow. “I see my reputation precedes me,” he said.

Carisi laughed. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m a cop. I’ve heard of you.”

Barba’s smile sharpened. “Heard only bad things, I hope. Including that I’m willing to actually prosecute cops for killing civilians.”

Carisi’s smile faded and he took another swig of his drink. “That was fucked up, if you’ll pardon my French,” he said in a low voice. “The whole situation. I dunno what I would’ve done in those cops’ situation—”

“Hopefully not murdered an innocent man whose sole crime was being Black,” Barba said, losing all pretense of a smile.

Carisi ignored him. “—But hindsight’s a bitch either way.” 

Barba glanced at him as Carisi drained his drink and gestured for another. “Fascinating though that insight may be, I assume that’s not why you’re drinking heavily at your own sister’s wedding.”

Carisi half-smiled. “Nah, you’re right about that,” he said, slamming his next drink in one gulp. “I, uh, I was just hoping that I wouldn’t be the last of my siblings to still be single. I know it sounds pathetic—”

“It does,” Barba agreed. “Almost as pathetic as someone attending his ex’s wedding. Alone.”

Carisi’s smile widened at that. “Fair point,” he said, before lifting his glass in a toast. “To being pathetic.”

Barba rolled his eyes but nonetheless raised his own glass to clink against Carisi’s. “To being slightly less pathetic when among company,” he corrected.

Carisi’s smile widened even further before he drained his drink and straightened. “Slightly less pathetic, huh?” he said, turning to scan the dance floor. “Hey, uh, you wanna piss off both the bride and the groom?”

Barba couldn’t help but smile slightly at that. “That depends,” he said, sipping from his own glass. “What did you have in mind?”

In response, Carisi grabbed Barba’s hand and dragged him onto the dance floor, ignoring Barba’s half-hearted protests that he hadn’t finished his drink (just as Barba tried to ignore how nice it felt when Carisi wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him just a little too close to be anything less than a move to piss off the bride and groom).


	18. Prompt: One Night Stand and Falling Pregnant AU

“Hey, uh, can we talk?”

Barba slowly set his briefcase down and straightened, narrowing his eyes at Carisi, who hovered awkwardly in the doorway to the kitchen. “No good conversation was ever started with those words,” he said evenly, pitching the statement as a question.

A question whose unstated answer was confirmed when Carisi didn’t smile. “It’s not a _bad_  conversation, per se,” Carisi hedged, leaning against the door jamb and watching as Babra divested himself of his coat and jacket. “But, uh, it does have the potential to…change things. For us.”

Barba’s hands stilled halfway through loosening his tie. “Change things?” he repeated. “You know I don’t particularly enjoy change, Detective.”

Carisi rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you can be particularly juvenile that way,” he said.

“Snark isn’t going to win you any points ahead of whatever conversation this is going to be,” Barba warned.

Carisi took a deep breath and nodded. “I know,” he said, unusually quiet, and he hesitated before he added, “I heard from Arielle today.”

Barba paused in the middle of rolling up his sleeves. “Arielle?” he asked.

Carisi’s expression twisted. “You probably know her as Miss 34B,” he said sourly.

Barba snorted softly and shook his head. “Of course,” he said smoothly. “How could I possibly forget the name of your former beard.”

“ _Don’t_ —” Carisi started. his voice heated, and Barba sighed, holding up a hand.

“I’m sorry,” he said, genuinely. “That was…rude of me.” Carisi’s expression didn’t change and Barba sighed again before prompting, “So you heard from Arielle today…”

“She’s pregnant.”

Even Carisi looked surprised by the way the words spilled from his mouth, and Barba stared at him for a long moment. “Is it — are you the father?” he asked, unusually blunt in his shock.

Carisi shrugged. “She says that I am. I have no reason to doubt her.”

Barba nodded, slowly, and sank down onto the couch, suddenly desperate for a drink. “I assume she’s keeping it,” he said coolly, and Carisi flinched.

“It’s her decision, but uh, I certainly hope she does,” he said, a note of warning in his voice.

Barba decided now was not the time to bring up the abortion debate. “And I assume she wants you to be a part of the child’s life.”

Carisi stared at him. “Even if she didn’t, I would want to,” he said blankly. “I mean, that’s my kid, Raf. I’m gonna be a dad. Even if the circumstances aren’t ideal—”

“I’m not going to ask you to turn your back on your child,” Barba said, a little coldly, as much by the unstated accusation as anything else. “But the key word there is _your_  child.”

Carisi blinked. “I know we haven’t really discussed it,” he started, his tone already wheedling, and Barba shook his head.

“No, we haven’t.” He sighed and ran a tired hand across his face. “I’m almost 50, you realize. I’d be retired before any child of mine graduated from high school.”

Shaking his head, Carisi started, a little earnestly, “If that’s what you’re worried about, Raf, plenty of kids have older parents. And besides, you’d make a great dad—”

“Even _if_ I would, that doesn’t mean I want to.”

Barba said the words calmly, simply, and Carisi shook his head again, but Barba ignored him. “I don’t want kids. I never have.”

Carisi shook his head again. “Maybe you don’t want kids in the abstract, Rafi, but this isn’t an abstract, this is a real child — my child. And you said…” He hesitated. “And you said you’d always love me.”

There was very little that Barba hated more than his own words being used against him, and he just shook his head. “And I always will,” he said honestly. “But that doesn’t mean that I’m ready or willing to have a child. With you or with anyone else.”

“So where does that leave us?”

Barba hesitated and then stood. “Right now, it leaves us as getting dinner,” he said evenly. “And from there — well, we’ll have to wait and see.”

“And if that’s not good enough for me?”

Carisi sounded tired and sad and Barba fought against every instinct that told him to cross over to Carisi, to kiss him, to cup his cheek with his hand and tell him that everything would be alright. Mainly because he didn’t know that it would.

“Then we’re at an impasse.” Barba looked at him, his expression carefully neutral. “So what’ll it be?”

Carisi sighed and ran a hand through his hair before shaking his head and forcing a smile. “Dinner,” he said, decisively. “Because I’m not ready to give up on this. On you. On us.”

Though Barba also managed a smile at that, he couldn’t stop the sinking feeling in his chest that Carisi really ought to be.


	19. Prompt: Cop/person getting a speeding ticket AU

Barba hated driving. **  
**

He had very reluctantly gotten his driver’s license when he was living in Massachusetts, mostly because he wasn’t sure where his law degree would take him and figured he should be prepared just in case. But braving the streets of Cambridge was a whole separate beast than navigating the hell that was Manhattan traffic, so Barba refused to drive unless he absolutely _had_ to.

Like when his idiotic boyfriend pulled a double immediately before they were supposed to leave on their vacation to Montauk and was liable to fall asleep at the wheel if he tried to stay up any longer.

“I can drive,” Carisi protested, trailing after Barba, though his statement would have been more convincing had he not yawned loudly in the middle of it, a yawn so wide Barba could hear his jaw crack. “I just need some coffee.”

“There’s not enough coffee in the world,” Barba said sternly, holding the passenger door open for him. “Besides, I’m perfectly capable of driving. My license isn’t even expired.”

(He only knew that because he had surreptitiously checked as he led Carisi downstairs.)

And he forestalled any of Carisi’s further protests by slamming the car door shut.

By the time he crossed around to the driver’s side and slid in, Carisi was already asleep, his head tipped back against the seat, and Barba shook his head fondly. “Told you,” he said to no one in particular and started the car before peering over his shoulder and carefully starting to pull out of the parallel parking spot.

Fifteen minutes later, Barba had successfully navigated the car from the parking spot and had only broken out in a cold sweat twice, which was about as good as he could expect. Still, he didn’t allow himself to relax until he was away from the Manhattan traffic, heading east.

Which was where his trouble began.

Barba had been driving on the Long Island Expressway for all of ten minutes when he saw red and blue lights flashing behind him, and he let out a panicked, “Oh, _fuck_ ,” loudly enough to wake Carisi, who blinked and looked around.

“Whuzzat?” he asked sleepily.

“Cop,” Barba said tersely.

“Well, pull over,” Carisi said unhelpfully, already nodding off again, and Barba rolled his eyes but complied.

He drummed his fingers nervously on the steering wheel as the state trooper took his sweet time in getting out of the squad car and meandering over to their car. “Good morning, Officer,” Barba said courteously, smiling in what he hoped was a slightly sincere way. Carisi was better at charming people than he was — Barba was more likely to frighten people than win them over.

“Morning,” the officer said, his eyes hidden behind mirrored sunglasses. “Do you know how fast you were going?” Barba opened his mouth to reply and instantly closed it again, settling instead for shrugging. The officer frowned, pushing his sunglasses down with one finger. “Is that a no?”

“That is me exercising my right against self-incrimination,” Barba said carefully.

Carisi snuffled in his sleep. “Fifth amendment, bitch,” he murmured, and Barba was sorely tempted to hit his head against the steering wheel. Repeatedly.

He settled for elbowing Carisi sharply, gratified when Carisi woke with a start and let out a muffled groan.

The officer squinted suspiciously at Carisi. “Is your, uh, friend alright, sir?” he asked.

“Oh, he’s fine,” Barba said, mock-brightly. “So, I assume you need to see my license and registration?”

The officer was still staring suspiciously at Carisi. “Actually, your license and proof of insurance,” he said. “Have you or your friend been drinking, sir?”

Barba stared at him, insulted. “It’s nine o’clock in the morning,” he pointed out, as Carisi reached towards the glove compartment for the insurance card before seeming to think better of it, his hand falling into his lap as he tossed Barba a slightly panicked look.

“You’d be surprised how many people drink during the day,” the officer said seriously as Barba scowled at Carisi and nodded toward the glove compartment as Carisi shook his head. “Is there a, uh, problem, sir?”

“My _friend_ —” Barba pronounced the word like a death sentence as he glared at Carisi. “—seems to be having some difficulty getting my insurance card out of the glove compartment.” Carisi just shook his head minutely, clearly unwilling to explain whatever was going on, and Barba rolled his eyes. “I may have a copy in my wallet along with my license, hold on…”

He reached for his pocket but froze when the officer’s hand instantly moved to his gun. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you stop reaching,” the officer said, his voice low, and Barba slowly raised his hands.

And Carisi laughed.

It was a soft noise, quickly dampened, but Barba still shot him an affronted look because the state trooper had a hand on his _gun_ and his _police officer_ boyfriend seemed to think this situation was _funny_. “You are not helping,” Barba hissed.

Carisi’s shoulders shook with silent laughter and Barba rolled his eyes up toward the roof of the car. The officer frowned slightly at Carisi. “Seriously, does your friend have a problem?”

“No, but he’s about to,” Barba muttered before fixing his smile back on his face. “Officer, I apologize, I was just going to grab my wallet. I’m going to very slowly reach into my back pocket and take my wallet out, ok?”

The officer nodded and watched carefully as Barba did so, quickly flipping open his wallet to grab his license and hand it to the officer. “And your insurance?” the trooper asked.

Barba glared at Carisi, who was still laughing, but before he could say anything — before he could even begin to think of an excuse — the walkie-talkie on the trooper’s shoulder crackled to life, and the trooper stepped away. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Barba snapped, and Carisi just shook his head mutely.

Before Barba could push any further, the trooper returned and handed Barba his license back. “It’s your lucky day. gentlemen,” the officer said. “I’ve been called away to another scene. Try to drive more slowly, and, uh—” He shot a furtive glance at Carisi, who was still trying to get his laughter under control. “Try to figure out whatever’s going on with your friend.”

“Will do, Officer,” Barba said gratefully, waiting until the state police car had pulled away from behind him before whirling on Carisi. “What is your problem?” he demanded.

Carisi held up his hands innocently. “I’m sorry, Raf,” he started, and he did sound at least slightly sorry, though he ruined it by again laughing. “I, uh, I have a loaded gun in the glove compartment and figured you probably didn’t want to explain that to the state trooper.”

Barba sucked in a deep breath and mentally counted to ten before exhaling in a rush. “You have a _gun_ in the car?”

“I’m a cop,” Carisi pointed out evenly, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Of course I have a gun in the car.”

“Yes, you are a cop,” Barba snapped, unwilling to let himself get sidetracked. “Which would have been, I don’t know, the kind of thing you _tell the state trooper who pulled over your boyfriend_.”

Carisi’s eyes widened with mock-innocence. “Surely ADA Rafael Barba is not suggesting that I use my position as an NYPD detective to get my boyfriend out of a speeding ticket. That’d be unethical.”

Barba ground his teeth together in frustration. “I’m just saying, you could’ve helped at any time.”

Carisi grinned and leaned in to kiss Barba’s cheek, his smile not faltering when Barba pushed him away. “Yeah, but where would be the fun in that?” he asked. “Besides, if ever you do get arrested for reckless driving, I can always represent you in court.”

“I’ll represent myself,” Barba growled through clenched teeth before slowly, carefully pulling back onto the highway, his hands clenched around the steering wheel. “Christ, I already need a vacation from our vacation.”

And Carisi just laughed.


	20. Handcuffed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really more a headcanon than anything but it still makes me giggle everytime I read it so I figured, what the hell, may as well pop it on here.
> 
> Slight NSFW warning.

One night, Barba decides to handcuff Sonny to the bed so that he can ride him and drive him wild without letting him touch (because Sonny loves to touch Barba, gets off on that almost as much as anything else). Only instead of using the handcuffs they have specifically for this purpose, ones that have a safety release, he accidentally uses Sonny's real handcuffs.

And Sonny left the keys at the precinct.

Cue a panicked discussion over who to call — Barba wants to call Liv, figuring she won't ask too many questions, Carisi wants to call Rollins because yeah, she'll laugh but he'd never be able to look Olivia in the eye again if she came over to uncuff him — and then, after realizing how late it is, they both agree they can't call their colleagues with kids.

Which leaves them with only one person to call.

Fin.

"I do not even want to know," Fin says without preamble, brushing past a very red Barba who had the forethought to get dressed while they waited for Fin to get there. Carisi opens his mouth and Fin glares at him. "I mean it. I do not want to know. As far as I'm concerned, I wasn't here, this didn't happen, and I know nothing about my colleagues’ extracurriculars."

"I can explain," Barba starts, weakly, because he has to say _something_.

"Oh yeah?" Fin asks. "You can explain why I'm uncuffing a junior detective from your bed at 2 o'clock in the morning, Counselor?"

Barba just mumbles something incoherent and goes to pour himself a drink.

When Sonny's finally free, he gives Fin a tentative smile. "Thanks," he offers, as he rubs his wrists.

"Don't thank me," Fin says warningly. "Thanking me means I did something and as we've established, _I was not here_."

He leaves without a word of goodbye to either of them.

Barba rejoins Sonny in the bedroom a few minutes later, slightly less red than before. Slightly. "So, that was..."

"Yup," Sonny says.

"We should, uh..."

"Nope."

True to his word, Fin says nothing. Not to Carisi, not to Barba. He acts like nothing happened, even as Sonny tiptoes around him for a week and Barba starts sweating every time he sees him.

Three weeks after the fact, Barba's on his way back to his office when Carmen stops him. "Sgt. Tutuola dropped this off," she says, and Barba's blood runs cold.

"Thanks," he says, his voice coming out higher pitched than he had any rational explanation for, and he grabs the file from her and disappears inside his office.

Inside is a single sheet of paper, instructions printed from a how-to website: _How to pick the lock on handcuffs_. 

Fin's attached a post-it note with a simple, handwritten command: _Next time, Google it first_.


	21. Prompt: Boss/Intern AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna also toss an **NSFW** warning on this one.
> 
> Just in case.

Carisi hesitated before knocking on the door to the office, and Mr. Barba looked up at him from where he was sitting in the plush leather chair, his feet propped up on the desk, his sleeves rolled up and a glass of scotch in hand. “Mr. Carisi,” Barba said, looking up at him, his green gaze piercing. “You’re here late. Most interns can’t wait to leave as soon as their time is done.” **  
**

Shrugging, Carisi took a step into the office, tempted without knowing why to cross his arms in front of his chest in a vain protection against the searing look in Barba’s eyes. “Well, that’s why you’re paying me the big bucks,” he said lightly.

“Funny,” Barba said, leaning back in his seat. “I thought we weren’t paying you at all.”

For some reason, the way he said it made Carisi blush, and Barba tracked the flush with his eyes, smirking as if he was wondering how far the flush extended. Of course, that thought only made Carisi blush more. “So,” Barba said, his eyes hooded as he smirked at Carisi, “what can I do for you, Mr. Carisi?”

Carisi licked his lips, and Barba’s throat bobbed, the first sign that he was even remotely as affected by this as Carisi was. “I, uh, I wanted to let you know that I finished annotating the Hirschman case. It’s good to go.”

“Were you hoping for a gold star?” Barba asked.

Carisi shrugged again. “No, I just, uh…”

He trailed off as Barba’s smile widened. “So you were looking for a different reward?” Barba asked, his voice practically a purr, and Carisi swallowed, hard. “That could be arranged. Depending on what you had in mind.” His smile turned downright filthy. “Depending on what you’re willing to do.”

“Anything.”

The word came out more breathy than Carisi intended, but for some reason, that seemed to please Barba, who pushed away from his desk and gestured toward Carisi. “Come here,” he ordered, and Carisi scurried to obey. He tried to keep his gait even as he crossed to Barba, tried to concentrate on not tripping over his feet, and he paused when he was a few feet away. “Closer than that, Mr. Carisi,” Barba said, his voice low, and Carisi swallowed before closing the space between them, standing between Barba’s spread legs. “So, Mr. Carisi,” Barba said, reaching out to rest his hands against Carisi’s hips, “what did you have in mind?”

For one long moment, Carisi just stared into Barba’s eyes, blue eyes meeting green, before he took a deep breath, licked his lips, and—

And snorted.

Barba’s smirk disappeared. “Mr. Carisi,” he started disapprovingly, but Carisi’s shoulders were shaking with laughter.

“I’m sorry, Raf, I tried, I really did, but I just can’t.”

Barba rolled his eyes and dropped his hands from Carisi’s hips. “This was _your_ idea, Detective,” he said sourly. “ _You_ were the one who told me, ‘It’ll be so hot, Raf, so dirty and sexy’.”

Carisi laughed out loud at Barba’s pitch-perfect imitation of him. “And I thought it would be!” he protested. “But instead, uh…” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “Instead I kinda wanna arrest you for being a perv.”

“If only being a perv was enough to merit an arrest,” Barba said dryly before heaving a sigh. “But fair point. That would kill the mood.” He looked up at Carisi, just a hint of a pout in his lips. “But we’re still going to have sex in Rita’s office, right? Because I pulled _strings_ to make this happen and if I used up all my favors for nothing…”

He trailed off threateningly and Carisi laughed loudly. “I suppose that can be arranged.” He reached down and grabbed Barba’s tie, pulling him out of the chair. “But I ain’t no intern, got that?”

“No, you’re not,” Barba acknowledged, his smirk returning just as his hands returned to their place on Carisi’s hips. “But I’m still the boss.”

Carisi smirked and leaned in to kiss Barba. “Well,” he said, “we’ll see about that.”


	22. Prompt: Meeting on a Train Ride AU

Despite what certain defense attorneys might otherwise claim, there were very few things about which Rafael Barba was a snob. Bespoke suits were one; single malt scotch was another; and above all, Barba was a complete snob when it came to transportation. **  
**

Which is to say, he summarily refused to use the subway.

His litany of reasons ran almost as long as the Uber ride back to his apartment: the subway was always crowded, and it always smelled disgusting, and there was always someone playing music eighteen decibels louder than necessary, and…

Well, you get the picture.

But when the City decided to shut down three entire city blocks around Barba’s apartment building for road resurfacing, not even he could justify paying for an Uber that dropped him off farther than the subway stop just down the street from his building. So with great reluctance (and taking care to wear his oldest suits, for the inevitability that someone spills something on him), Barba started taking the subway to and from work.

And he very quickly started to wonder why he hadn’t done this sooner.

Because three stops from his own, one of the most attractive men he’d ever laid eyes on got on the train, and Barba got to spend his entire ride downtown surreptitiously watching the tall blond man lean against the pole in the center of the car while scrolling through his phone. Nothing about him should be appealing to Barba, from the man’s tousled hair to his worn hoodie to his scuffed Converse shoes.

But more importantly than his clothes was the wrinkle in his forehead, which should be equally unappealing, but for some bizarre reason wasn’t. Instead, Barba had the inexplicable urge to kiss it, to smooth that worry line, to force those dimpled cheeks into a smile.

Christ, he was hopeless over a complete stranger.

Of course, he didn’t act on any of that, merely sipped his coffee and tried not to stare at the blond man.

This was made significantly harder when, one day, the blond slumped into the seat directly across from Barba. Barba tried to look away, tried to stare with great interest at the graffitied advertisement on the wall, but he couldn’t help but glance at the man.

And he almost blushed when he saw the man looking at him.

He didn’t, because Barba had more self-control than that, merely arched an eyebrow before staring at the opposite wall as if it was even remotely interesting.

So he missed the way the blond’s lips curved into a smile.

But he certainly couldn’t miss the blond purposefully sitting down next to him the following day, spreading his legs far too wide to be considered polite on public transportation, and Barba glared first at the man’s thigh pressing against his before transferring his glare to the blond’s face. “Do you mind?” he asked curtly.

“Not at all,” the blond said blithely with a terrible Staten Island accent, holding his hand out for Barba to shake. “I’m Sonny. Sonny Carisi.”

Barba ignored his outstretched hand. “You’re also in my personal space, and I’d greatly appreciate if you weren’t.”

Sonny whistled under his breath and crossed his legs. “So I guess I misread all those looks you’ve been giving me,” he said, conversationally, and Barba started.

“I…what?” he asked, unusually ineloquent.

Sonny shrugged. “I, uh, I saw you looking at me the past few days, and I thought…” He trailed off. “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter. I won’t be riding this train much anymore. I just, uh, wanted to introduce myself. In case…”

He trailed off again, but Barba was ready this time. “In case I wanted to know?” he asked, with just a touch of wryness. “How bold of you.”

“You say that like you don’t admire boldness,” Sonny said baldly, and Barba did admire him for that, both for the stab in the dark of the statement as well as the way he was apparently able to read Barba after about a dozen words exchanged at most.

He settled for shrugging. “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.” He raised an eyebrow at Sonny. “Why won’t you be riding this train anymore?”

Sonny smiled, almost apologetically. “Wait about thirty seconds and you’ll see.”

Barba blinked. That was not the answer he expected, and he opened his mouth to say something when—

“NYPD,” Sonny half-shouted, a gun appearing from somewhere under his hoodie, and a man Barba had barely noticed froze, looking like a cornered animal as Sonny crossed to him. “Robert Flay, you’re under arrest for rape in the first degree. You have the right to remain silent—”

Barba had never realized that the Miranda Rights could be hot, but he apparently hadn’t accounted for the way Sonny said it as he manhandled the perp against the side of the subway car and cuffed him.

An undercover cop.

Barba really should’ve known.

Frankly, he was more than a little embarrassed that he hadn’t.

His eyes met Sonny’s once more, as Sonny led the perp from the subway car. Sonny’s mouth half-lifted in a smile, and then he was gone, and Barba sighed heavily before leaning back against the seat.

He promptly leaned forward again because the seat back was damp, and Barba didn’t even want to know what from.

The next few days were a blur of boring as Barba’s mornings were no longer punctuated by the appearance of the gorgeous blond man, and while Barba knew that between the other ADAs in his office and everything else, he’d be able to track down the officer if he really wanted to, he chose not to, chose not to track down Officer Carisi.

Because the fact remained that as far as Barba knew, he and Carisi had absolutely nothing in common.

And he wasn’t willing to take that risk for someone he honestly didn’t know.

On the fifth day after Sonny had revealed himself, Barba was as usual staring off into space when the door to the subway car opened and a man sat down next to him. An impeccably-dressed man, hair slicked back, suit well-tailored, and badge gleaming on his hip. “My sources tell me you’re an ADA,” the man said, and Barba started at the Staten Island accent and hauntingly-familiar voice. He was embarrassed to realize he’d been hearing that voice in his head all week.

“Your sources?” Barba asked lightly, not looking over at him.

Sonny shrugged, his shoulder shifting against Barba’s. “I asked around,” he said. “Wanted to know who the gorgeous guy in the three-piece suits who gets off at the stop for 1 Hogan Place every day was.”

Barba glanced over at him with a small smile. “You asked around?” he asked.

“I was curious,” Sonny said, unapologetically. “And, uh, hoping to continue our conversation.”

“We spoke all of a couple of sentences to each other,” Barba pointed out evenly.

Sonny shrugged again. “Yeah, but there was all that sexual tension that went along with those sentences, so…”

He trailed off and Barba glanced over at him, reading the half-smirk that lifted his lips and the furrow of his brow for what it was. And finding himself inexplicably attracted to the man despite — or perhaps because of — it. “Well, Officer,” Barba started, and Sonny cut him off smoothly.

“Detective.”

“Well, Detective,” Barba continued doggedly. “I appreciate you taking the time to find me.” He hesitated only momentarily before pulling one of his business cards from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and jotting down his cell phone number on the back. “If you ever want to do something about that sexual tension, you know where to find me.”

Sonny’s answering smile was blinding, and Barba tucked the image away to remember later as he stood, the subway shuddering to a stop at his station, and he couldn’t quite stop his own smile as he got off, well aware that Sonny was staring after him, well aware that the cellphone in his pocket was vibrating with a text from the detective, well aware that he wouldn’t last more than a minute without answering.

Maybe he’d been wrong about the subway. Just a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUN FACT TIME. I was watching "Beat Bobby Flay" while watching this, and did not previously know that Bobby Flay was married to Stephanie March, AKA Alexandra Cabot on SVU. It's a small world, y'all. A small world.


	23. Prompt: "I Love You" Said in Awe, the First Time You Realized It

Carisi was on a roll, his face red as he practically yelled at Barba, who was sitting in his chair in his office, almost amused as he listened to Carisi’s rant. Not that the detective hadn’t had a point when the rant had first started, but he had lost the plot somewhere around his third point and now was mostly yelling to yell. **  
**

Barba didn’t blame him. It had been a long case, and the judge particularly unforgiving, and Carisi was frustrated.

Hell, Barba was frustrated.

And sure, maybe his frustration was doubled because he and Carisi had been doing this dance around each other for months now, had been flirting and teasing and taunting and taking every step except that final one that sealed the deal, but that didn’t distract from the fact that the case was disappointing.

Nor did it distract from the fact that Carisi was utterly beautiful when he was riled.

Because he was, his cheeks flushed, his hair sticking up because he had run a frustrated hand through it, his lips red because he had been practically gnawing on his lower lip biting back all his unspoken objections during court.

But Barba said none of that, just letting Carisi get it all off his chest.

At least, until Carisi blurted with a particular fervor, riled from his uninterrupted two solid minutes of ranting, “And your tie doesn’t even match your pocket square today, Counselor, and—”

“I love you.”

There was something almost reverent in Barba’s tone as he said it, even if he hadn’t meant to — and he absolutely had not meant to.

But between Carisi’s utter beauty and the fact that, despite the shithole of the day it had been, Carisi had noticed that Barba’s tie was salmon and his pocket square more coral, Barba couldn’t keep in what he had been slowly realizing over the past year, even if he hadn’t quite found the words to articulate it before.

Even if he was fairly certain the three words he used would be the death of him as soon as he said them.

Carisi broke off mid-sentence and stared open-mouthed at Barba. “You…what?” he asked, his voice a half-octave higher than normal.

Barba shrugged, feeling the back of his neck burn red. “You heard me,” he said defiantly, meeting Carisi’s gaze coolly.

Carisi licked his lips. “Me telling you that your tie and pocket square didn’t match…that’s what did it for you?” he asked, incredulous.

Barba shrugged again. “Well, it helped at least.”

Carisi slowly shook his head. “I just…why? Why that, of everything?”

“Because you’re you,” Barba said, without meaning to, realizing that it didn’t nearly begin to illustrate the thoughts racing through his head. “Because the puppy dog hero worship was cute, sure, but unrealistic, and I was never sure you would move past it. Because this means you actually see me, for my imperfections — of which there are many, Detective — as well as the parts you admire. And because…” He trailed off, and shrugged. “Because you’re you. And you’re there when I need you most. And you’re smart and funny and incredible, and—”

He broke off, coloring at the look on Carisi’s face. “So just so we’re clear,” Carisi said slowly, “the moment that pushed you over the edge was me insulting your fashion choices.”

“I—” Barba broke off. “That’s not _at all_ what I said.”

“Maybe not,” Carisi said, grinning, “but that’s what I’m taking it as.”

Barba opened his mouth to protest and promptly closing it again, glaring at Carisi. “You’re the worst.”

Carisi just shrugged. “Maybe,” he said, “but you love me.”

And it was too late for Barba to deny it.


	24. Prompt: "I Never Stood a Chance, Did I?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could technically be considered an episode tag for season 19 episodes 5 and 6, so spoilers therein. Outsider POV.

The barista had seen this scene unfold many times before. **  
**

The man arrived first, cardboard box held awkwardly in front of him, police badge shining on his hip. He smiled at the barista, and ordered two coffees before dropping the box on a table in front of the window. The barista couldn’t tell if the break-up had been his idea or not, but judging by the way he kept peeking at his phone, she had a feeling he was the first to move on.

The woman followed, no more than ten minutes later, likewise clutching a box, and the barista offered her a sympathetic smile. It was never easy to do this, to exchange belongings at the end of a relationship, and no matter how many times the barista witnessed it — her café being clearly deemed a safe public place to avoid any meltdowns — it didn’t get easier to watch either.

The man stood when she approached, his smile fading slightly. “Hey,” he said, almost nervously. “I got you coffee.”

“Thanks,” she said, “but I’m on a cleanse.”

“Ah,” the man said, a little awkwardly, and set the coffee back down. “Well, uh, it’s good to see you.”

The woman managed a smile at that. “You never were a good liar,” she teased. “Worst poker face in the five boroughs.”

“Hey now,” the man said, mock-offended. “My poker face isn’t that bad.”

She made a disbelieving noise. “Well, clearly the only person you’re good at lying to is yourself.”

Something about her words must have hit too close to home, as the man winced and the woman looked away, her expression tightening. “Sorry,” she said quietly.

He just shook his head, his tone turning businesslike. “Here,” he said, nudging his box forward a few inches. “Trade ya. Hope you don’t mind it’s in an evidence box, that’s all I had available.”

She laughed, but there was no genuine mirth in the sound. “It’s fine,” she said, handing off her own cardboard carton. “I think I got everything, but—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted, flashing her a nervous version of his usual grin, his dimples just creasing his cheeks. Carefully, he slid his box across the café table in exchange for the one she had set down. He glanced down into his box, his entire being seeming to light up at what he saw. “Hey, I thought I had lost this!”

She watched as he lifted a faded Harvard Law sweatshirt from the box, something sad but knowing in her smile. “I figured, given how important it was to you, you’d probably want it back.” Something shifted in the man’s expression, and he set the sweatshirt back in the box with a gentle, almost reverent movement. “I never stood a chance, did I?”

“Aria—” he started, but she shook her head.

“It’s fine,” she assured him for a second time. “It was fun while it lasted, Dominick, but you and I both know it was never going to last forever.” He shrugged, and she hesitated before asking, “Do you love him?”

He huffed a sigh, avoiding looking at her. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I never really stopped, you know?” She nodded slowly, and he looked back at her. “But I never wanted to hurt you.”

She cleared her throat. “Yes, well,” she said, briskly, grabbing the cardboard box with her belongings as if she needed to do something with her hands. “I hope he makes you happy.”

“He does.” A slow, soft, particularly idiotic smile stretched across his face as he gazed off into the distance. “He called me a bat the other day.”

“A what?”

He waved a dismissive hand. “A bat. You kinda had to be there. But, uh, it means we’re getting back on the right track. So, uh, thank you for, uh…”

“Dumping you so that you had no choice but to work it out with your ex who you’ve been hopelessly in love with for over three years?” she supplied.

He laughed lightly. “Something like that, anyway.”

She managed a genuine smile. “Well, I’m glad I could help,” she said lightly, shifting the box in her arms. “I feel like we should — I don’t know, shake hands, or hug, or—”

He cut her off by leaning and kissing her lightly on the forehead. “I’m sorry that it had to end this way,” he said, genuinely.

“But not sorry it ended,” she said. “See you around, Dominick.”

“Bye, Aria.”

The barista watched as the woman left, her head held high. The man, Dominick, watched her leave as well, before looking back down at the Harvard sweatshirt, a smile again stretching across his face.

His phone rang, and his face lit up. “Now who’s the bat, Counselor?” he asked with a chuckle. “Nah, just some good timing. What are you up to?” He paused. “You want me to meet you there?”

He left, still on the phone, still grinning. The barista shook her head and turned back to the counter she had been meant to be wiping down, starting to smile slightly. She might’ve witnessed the end of a relationship, but she was pretty sure she’d also just witnessed the start of something pretty incredible as well.


	25. Two Sides of a Conversation

**16th Precinct  
November 15, 8:30 a.m.**

Amanda walked into the squadroom, unsurprised to see Carisi at his desk, feet propped up like a certain ADA was wont to do. He gave her a wave but didn't break from his conversation. “Yeah, no, I totally get it. Takeout is fine, you know I'm flexible.” He waggled his eyebrows at Rollins, who rolled her eyes. “In more ways than one.”

“Tell Barba I say hi,” she said, sitting down at her own desk. Barba and Carisi may have been the couple that everyone had seen coming, but Amanda still wasn't used to them actually being together.

“Rollins says hi,” Carisi said, his grin widening at whatever Barba said in response. Then he straightened. “Oh, sure. Love you.”

He paused, and Amanda glanced at him, knowing that Barba and Carisi weren't exactly the type to have long, drawn-out goodbyes.

But apparently, she was wrong.

“Nuh-uh,” Carisi said, his tone turning playful. “I love you more.”

Rollins rolled her eyes.

“No, I love y _ou_ more.”

She stood, desperate for something to get her away from having to listen to this.

“No, _you_ hang up first.” Carisi laughed at whatever Barba said. “I love you, talk to you tonight.”

He hung up and grinned at Amanda, who gave him a look. “You two are revolting. You know that, right?”

“Ah, c’mon,” Carisi said, still grinning as he got up from his desk to get some coffee. “If you think love is revolting, maybe that's why you're still single.”

She threw her empty styrofoam cup at him, and he dodged it, laughing. His phone buzzed on his desk and Amanda looked down at it. “From Barba,” she read out loud. “I love you the most.”

Amanda pretended to throw up, while Carisi just laughed.

 

**1 Hogan Place  
November 15, 8:30 a.m.**

“Anyway, this trial is going horrendously,” Barba said, draining his third cup of coffee that morning. “And I know tonight’s supposed to be date night, but I was hoping I could talk you into takeout at my place instead.”

“Yeah, no, I totally get it,” Carisi said, and Barba allowed himself a brief moment of something close to happiness. Happy that they had finally worked this thing out between them. Happy that it was as easy and as perfect as he had always hoped it would be. “Takeout is fine, you know I’m flexible.” Barba preemptively rolled his eyes, already knowing what was coming by the smirk he heard in Carisi’s voice. “In more ways than one.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Barba said dryly.

Carisi’s grin sounded particularly self-satisfied when he said, “Rollins says hi.”

“And Buchanan’s on his way here, so once John arrives, it’ll _really_ be a party.” Carmen poked her head in to his office and Barba sighed. “Oh, shit, Buchanan’s here. I'm tempted to just offer his client a better deal if it’ll make this whole nightmare of a trial go away. Anyway, I'll talk to you later.”

“Oh, sure,” Carisi said, much more seriously than before. “I love you.”

Barba watched Buchanan warily as the man strolled into his office. “Uh-huh, you as well,” he said, a little distractedly, because Buchanan was smiling in such a way that Barba had a feeling he wasn't going to like where this conversation was headed.

“Nuh-uh, I love you more.”

“Right,” Barba said blankly, tempted to ask if Carisi was having a stroke. “Anyway—”

“No, I love _you_ more.”

Barba’s eyes narrowed at Carisi’s slightly gleeful tone. The detective knew _exactly_ what he was doing. “We’ll continue this conversation later—” he started warningly.

“No, _you_ hang up first.”

“—no matter how fascinating this discussion of _justifiable homicide_ may be.”

Carisi had the nerve to laugh. “I love you. Talk to you tonight.”

Barba hung up and forced a grimace masquerading as a smile at Buchanan. “John,” he said, standing to shake the other man’s hand. “Always a pleasure.”

As Buchanan sat down across from him, Barba typed a quick text to Carisi: _I love you the most_. “So, I assume you want to discuss a deal with my client,” Buchanan said silkily.

_Something I want you to remember when I kill you tonight._

Barba sent the second text before looking back at Buchanan. “Actually, I assumed you were the one who wanted to discuss a deal,” he said mildly.

Buchanan’s smile slipped, just slightly. “You can't be serious. Given the state’s inability to produce a single shred of non-circumstantial evidence against my client—”

Barba’s phone pinged and he glanced down at it, tuning out Buchanan’s bluster. _You said you were tempted to make a better deal,_ the text from Carisi said. _Bet you're not in a deal-making mood now._

Barba felt a sharp smile stretch across his face. “Well played,” he murmured, so that Buchanan couldn't quite hear him and had to stop mid-sentence.

“Are you even listening to me?” he asked, annoyed.

“That'd be a no,” Barba said, almost cheerfully. “The deal on the table hasn't changed, John: rape 1, fifteen years plus time served, and your client goes on the registry.”

“Well I’m glad to see you've wasted my time,” Buchanan sniped, standing and making as if to storm out, though Barba just sat back in his chair and made no move to stop him. Buchanan sighed. “Ten years plus time served.”

Barba shrugged. “Fifteen is already more than generous. Did you see the way those jurors cried at the victim’s testimony? Your client’ll be lucky to get 20.”

If the jury actually found him guilty, of course, but Barba figured now was not the time to mention that.

Buchanan sighed again. “I’ll run it by my client,” he muttered, and Barba allowed himself a triumphant smirk as Buchanan left.

He glanced down at his phone and another text from Carisi: _You still gonna kill me?_

 _Jury’s still out_ , Barba sent back, hesitating before adding, _But Buchanan’s client is probably going to take the original deal, so the odds look in your favor._

 _You're welcome,_ Carisi sent back, and Barba rolled his eyes.

 _If that's your way of fishing for gratitude, you're going to be fishing for quite some time._ He paused before adding, with less hesitation, _I love you._

A moment later, Carisi responded, _Uh-huh, you as well ;)_

Barba just rolled his eyes, though he couldn't help but smile.


	26. Prompt: Apples and Oranges

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny little drabble written for tobeconspicuous. Finally getting some old drabbles/ficlets put up on here.

"I don't get it," Amanda said off-handedly, stirring her coffee and watching Barba as he perched on the edge of Carisi's desk, deep in conversation with the detective. "I mean, I know, opposites attract and all, but those two are like apples and oranges."

Fin just shrugged. "If they're happy, I'm happy."

Amanda gave him a look. "Really?"

Now Fin looked up at her, something like amusement in his expression. "Whaddya want me to say?" he asked. "They make perfect sense to me."

"How so?" Amanda demanded.

"Lawyers."

Fin pronounced the word like it was dirty and Amanda cocked her head for a moment before a smile slowly spread across her face. "You're not wrong," she said.

"You know they're talking about us, right?" Carisi said mildly to Barba, who rolled his eyes.

"Detectives," Barba scoffed. "They think they're the only observant ones."

"Hey now," Carisi protested, with no real heat. "I'm a detective."

Barba's expression softened. "Apples and oranges," he said, resting a hand on top of Carisi's, as public a display of affection as he was willing to make. "Apples and oranges."


	27. West Virginia Mini-fix it

"So Rollins turned you down and you show up at my door."

Scorn was clear in Barba's voice, and derision. But unless Carisi misheard — and maybe he did, because he wanted to hear it so badly that he could easily be imagining it — both were just an attempt to mask the hurt that lingered in Barba's tone.

"It's not like that," Carisi told him, and when Barba just looked at him flatly, added, "It's not _just_ like that."

"Then enlighten me," Barba said dryly. "Because as I told you once before, I won't be your rebound. Or your experiment. Or your teenage rebellion some twenty years too late."

 _You're not_ , Carisi wanted to tell him, or else, _Maybe you were once, because I didn't know what I wanted. And maybe it took this for me to figure it out. But my feelings haven't changed. And I don't think they ever will._

He didn't say that.

Instead, he shook his head slowly. "Amanda made the right choice," he said.

Barba cocked his head slightly. "Really?" he asked coolly.

"Really," Carisi told him. "My heart wouldn't've been it."

 _It woulda been right here_ , Carisi again longed to say. _Where it always has been._

But he and Barba had always left more unspoken than spoken, the things left unsaid speaking in greater volumes than any words they ever spoke to each other; and so Carisi just looked steadily at Barba, who looked steadily back at him.

Then, wordlessly, Barba took a step back, opening the door a little wider.

And Carisi went into Barba's apartment, and couldn't help but feel a little like he was coming home.


	28. On Cats, and Barba's Feelings Towards Them

Rafael Barba doesn’t _get_  cats.

“Why would anyone want a pet who barely tolerates you?” he asks, baffled. “I thought the whole point of a pet was unbridled enthusiasm and love.”

In fairness, the only pet he was even remotely acquainted with was Frannie, and unbridled enthusiasm was part and parcel with Frannie.

But for the most part, Barba’s content to let cats do their thing while he does his, so long as they don’t have to interact too much.

It only becomes a problem when he starts dating Carisi.

Because Carisi has a cat.

“She’s watching me,” he tells Carisi one night while they’re on Carisi’s couch.

Carisi, who previously was busy pressing a line of kisses down Barba’s neck, glances up, confused. “Who?”

Barba shoots a glance at the cat, who is in fact several feet away and conspicuously not looking at them. “The cat.”

“Clara?” Carisi swivels to glance at the cat, instantly relaxing when he sees her lounging on the floor. “Nah, she’s fine. She likes you.”

“I literally don’t understand how you can possibly draw that conclusion from the fact that your cat happens to be in the same room as me,” Barba says, incredulous.

Carisi laughs. “It’s how she shows affection,” he says. “Following you around, pretending like it’s just a coincidence that she’s in the same room as you 95% of the time. Just wait, pretty soon she’ll be sitting on your lap and giving you kisses.”

Barba looks from the cat to Carisi, expression dubious. “Sure,” he says, doubt heavy in his voice. “If you say so.”

Carisi kisses his cheek. “I’m surprised you don’t recognize the signs,” he says with another laugh.

Barba frowns. “What do you mean?”

“It’s how I knew you liked me,” Carisi says easily. “You did the same thing.”

For one moment, Barba’s about to protest, insulted at both the implication and the comparison. But then he has the sudden and unfortunate realization that Carisi’s right. He looks back at the cat, who’s looking at him again. Slowly, the cat blinks, just once, and Barba feels a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Maybe he’s been underestimating cats this entire time.

“For the record,” he says, leaning back against Carisi, “I don’t sit in your lap and give you kisses.”

Carisi just laughs and presses a kiss to Barba’s temple. “Sure you don’t.”


	29. Shot in Court

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt courtesy of power-bottom-barba.
> 
> **Warnings for mild character injury, gunshots, etc.**

A perp gets ahold of a gun in court and waves it around like an idiot before accidentally letting off a shot that probably shouldn't have hit anyone, but unfortunately, the bullet grazes Carisi (who may or may not have been trying to shield Barba. Successfully, he'll add later in a smug voice that makes Barba roll his eyes, if just to hide the fond expression on his face).

"Ow," Carisi says, in a slightly dazed voice from where he's lying half on the courtroom floor, half in Barba's lap.

"Shh," Barba says, as close to soothing as he gets, tugging off his tie with one hand and pressing it against the wound.

Carisi winces at the pain before asking, "Did you just shush me, Counselor?" Barba just gives him a look and Carisi manages a small smile. "You know that tie's gonna be ruined," he says as a weak joke.

"Why do you think I used the tie instead of my jacket?" Barba asks dryly, the only indication that he's worried the slight shaking of his fingers as he keeps pressure against the wound. "I paid good money for this suit, and you gave me this tie for Christmas."

Carisi glares at him, affronted. "I never said you had to wear it if you didn't like it," he snipes. "In fact, if memory serves, I even gave you a gift receipt."

"And now I have the perfect excuse to never wear it again," Barba shoots back, "no gift receipt necessary."

And in the meantime, Amanda's been on the phone getting an ambulance to the courthouse and gives them a look like they're the biggest bunch of idiots she's ever met (which, I mean, fair). "Guys, can you stop bickering for literally ten seconds?" she asks, trying to sound authoritative but coming across more exasperated. "Carisi's been _shot_ , for Christ's sake!"

Barba doesn't even look up at her. "Yes, thank you, Captain Obvious. In other news, I'll be offering the perp attempted manslaughter at most, because it was probably justified, just given who Carisi is as a person."

Amanda looks momentarily horrified but Carisi laughs (in large part because he knows that Barba’s only acting like this to keep from giving into the panic that Carisi can see in the tightening of Barba’s eyes), though the laugh quickly turns into another wince, and Barba presses his tie a little harder against the wound, the panic edging forward, just a little. Just enough that Carisi notices it when no one else would. "Hey, it's ok," Carisi says lightly. "Don't get blood on your suit on my account." Barba rolls his eyes but his expression softens, just slightly. But before he can say anything, Sonny adds, "Because, you know, I'll never hear the end of it if you do. 'Detective, remember that time you got shot and had the audacity to bleed on my Brooks Brothers?'"

"It's Hugo Boss," Barba informs him, and Sonny grins.

"See what I mean?"

And Amanda is desperately hoping that the ambulance gets there before she's tempted to shoot both of them, just to get them to shut up.


	30. Height Difference

"Three inches," Barba said, with a glare that could melt paint. "He's only three inches taller than I am."

"Rafi—" Carisi started, but Barba ignored him.

"In fact, I'm not even certain he's three inches taller than me. I think that has to be counting his stupid, poofy hair, which is frankly an unfair advantage."

Carisi frowned, patting his hair gingerly. "Hey, c'mon, leave the hair out of this."

"Besides," Barba continued as if Carisi had not spoken, "there are no indications that height is linked to any health benefits or increased virility or—"

"Rafael." Barba's mouth snapped shut and he glared at Carisi, who had the audacity to look amused. "She was just commenting on the composition of the shot. It's literally her job."

Barba's glare deepened but Carisi just continued to grin at him with those dimples, and after a long moment, Barba sighed. "Fine," he huffed, turning. "My apologies."

"Um," the photographer said, her eyes still wide. "Right. So...just a few more with the grooms, then?"

"Perfect," Carisi said, wrapping an arm around Barba's shoulders and kissing his cheek. "Just like your height, Raf."

Barba glared up at him. "I hate you."

"Which is undoubtedly why you married me," Carisi said with a chuckle as the camera _clicked_ once more.


	31. 19x10 Mini-Episode Tag

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Courtesy of barbaxcarisi: "I'm just thinking about how if it was Sonny Barba was talking to on the phone (and come on, it was) how _mad_ Sonny would be that he used him to violate the law."

"You _used_ me for _that_?"

Barba winced but kept his expression as neutral as he could. "I didn't _use_ you for anything," he said, lifting his chin in defiance. "I did what I had to do."

"Bullshit," Sonny snapped. "You had a thousand different choices you coulda made, and you chose the stupidest one."

Despite himself, Barba felt his own guilt lashing out in the most cutting way he knew how. "Yes, thank you, Detective, I'm certain your _vast_ experience in the courtroom actually using that law degree has really made you an expert."

Sonny flinched, taking a step back from Barba, who realized a moment too late that he had possibly gone too far. "Fine," Sonny said, his voice tense and his expression flinty. "Just next time you wanna violate some ethics, don't call me." Barba sighed, and made as if to speak, to apologize, but Sonny cut him off. "In fact, just don't call me anymore, period."

"Sonny—" Barba started, but Sonny just shook his head, already turning and walking away.


	32. Prompt: Cuddling in a Blanket Fort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For barbaxcarisi and skysquid22.
> 
> This is not the fluffy blanket fort cuddling fic you were looking for.

“Sonny?” Barba called tiredly, dropping his briefcase next to the door in Carisi’s apartment before bending over to untie his shoes. He straightened and glanced around, a frown puckering his brow when he realized Carisi hadn’t answered. “Sonny?” **  
**

“In here!”

Barba stepped into Carisi’s apartment, reaching up to loosen his tie, and his expression softened just slightly when he saw Carisi poke his head out of the makeshift fort put together from a few spare blankets and the cushions off the couch. “Aren’t you a little old to be playing in a blanket fort?” he asked with a chuckle.

Carisi stuck his tongue out at him before giving him a dimpled smile. “It was my day to watch Noah while Liv ran some errands,” he said. “You know she hasn’t been ok leaving him with just Lucy ever since…well, you know. So we made a blanket fort and played with robots.” He patted the carpet. “You should join me.”

Though Barba obediently lowered himself to the floor, he groaned softly as he did. “My knees are not going to thank me for this later,” he grumbled, even as he squirmed his way inside the makeshift fort, taking care to avoid the Legos scattered on the floor. “But it looks like you had a good time with Noah.”

“I did,” Carisi said easily, picking up the pieces of a half-assembled Lego robot. He gave Barba a sideways glance. “I heard you had a not-quite-as-good time in court today.”

Barba sighed, picking up an abandoned Transformer and fiddling with it, conspicuously avoiding Carisi’s gaze. “You heard about that?”

Carisi shrugged. “Pretty sure I could hear Judge Barth yelling all the way from here,” he said with a tentative smile.

A smile that Barba did not return.

Carisi’s smile faltered somewhat and he looked back down at the robot in his hands. “You wanna talk about what happened with the mistrial?” he asked, his voice deceptively light as he clicked a few Legos into place.

Barba didn’t bother looking up at him, and his voice was sharp as he responded, “You want to talk about West Virginia?”

It was a low blow.

Barba knew that.

Carisi sucked in a breath and ducked his head before he looked back up at Barba and forced a smile. “You wanna sit in here and play with robots and not talk about anything?”

“Yeah,” Barba said, rolling over so that he was lying on his stomach. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

Carisi hesitated before leaning in and kissing him lightly. “I love you,” he said, something almost tentative in the words, and Barba closed his eyes for a brief moment, hearing everything that Carisi was leaving unsaid.

_Despite the mistrial._

_Despite jeopardizing your career._

_Despite the very real possibility of suspension at best or disbarment at worst._

“I know,” Barba said, with a heavy sigh. “I love you, too.”

_Despite West Virginia._

_Despite being in the closet still._

_Despite leaving me alone in bed to go confess how much you love me to your priest as if it’s a sin._

Sometimes, it was easier to leave things unspoken.

Safer, really.

No matter if the safety of the things they left unsaid was as illusory as the blanket fort around them.

Barba sighed again and shifted so that his elbow pressed against Carisi’s. Carisi let out a small sigh as well before the corners of his mouth twitched into a smile and the frown lines that puckered his brow smoothed for even just a moment.

It may be illusory, but it was what they had, and Barba was going to savor it for as long as he could in whatever form he was able. Even if it meant playing with robots in a blanket fort on Carisi’s living room floor.

Especially then.

Because as illusory as the relative safety of the things they left unsaid was, this, here, together?

This was real.

And Barba would treasure it for as long as he was able.


	33. Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written before the last episode aired when I was having a bad day and my squad was super awesome <3 Lots of love to you all.

“Can I sit?” **  
**

Sonny didn’t presume to know the answer, not after all this time, not after everything between them. Rafael didn’t look up at him, just drained his glass of scotch and gestured at the bartender for another. “I’m gonna stand here until you give me verbal consent, Counselor.”

Rafael arched an eyebrow at him, but rather than glib, the move seemed tired. “You’re going to be standing for a long time then, Detective.”

“Well, thank God my shoes are comfortable.”

Rafael snorted and shook his head. “Fine,” he said, when the bartender slid his refilled glass in front of him. “Sit.”

Sonny sat.

“Beer,” he told the bartender. “Whatever the Sam Adams seasonal on draft is.” He caught Rafael giving him a sideways glance and frowned. “What?”

Shrugging, Rafael picked up his drink and took a sip. “I can’t decide if I expected something distinctly more hipster or distinctly more blue collar.”

“IPAs make me sneeze,” Sonny told him, and while it probably wasn’t an answer to any question Rafael had yet thought of, it nonetheless did the trick, as Rafael cracked maile.

The bartender set a pint glass down in front of Sonny and he took a sip before turning fully to Rafael, his expression neutral. “You wanna talk?”

“No.”

“Really?” Sonny pressed. “Because need I remind you, you texted me.”

Rafael shrugged. “Booty call,” he offered, another attempt at glib that fell flat.

Sonny rolled his eyes before sighing and turning back to the bar. “Fine,” he said, after a pause. “We don’t have to talk. We can just sit here in silence.”

“God, that’s even more tortuous than talking,” Rafael said.

Sonny didn’t laugh.

He also didn’t look over at Rafael, didn’t give any indication that he was waiting for him to speak.

Not that it mattered.

The only person who hated silence more than Sonny was Rafael.

“Have you ever thought about just walking away?”

Rafael didn’t say from what. He didn’t have to.

Sonny took a long pull from his beer and considered the question for a long moment. “No,” he said finally, honestly. “Even when I was considering becoming an ADA, it wasn’t because I was walking away. It was because I thought I could do more good as an ADA.”

Rafael nodded slowly, and took a sip of scotch. Sonny glanced sideways at him. “Are you thinking of walking away?”

Rafael’s shoulders tensed, and he shrugged. “Maybe,” he said.

“Why?”

Sonny kept his voice calm, unaccusatory. Rafael shrugged again and looked over at him. “Maybe I think I can do more good doing something else.”

“Ok,” Sonny said, nodding slowly, and he took another sip of beer. “Something else like what?”

For only the second time all evening, Rafael cracked a smile, though this time there was no amusement in it. “Fuck if I know,” he sighed.

Sonny sat back on the bar stool and turned to give Rafael an even look. “If you want to walk away, if you think that’s the best choice for you, no one will stop you, Rafael. Not because we don’t think you’re one of the best ADAs SVU’s ever had the opportunity to work with, but because you’re our friend and we want you to be happy. And if this job isn’t making you happy, then maybe it is time for you to find what does.”

“Have you started referring to yourself using the royal we?” Rafael asked.

“No.”

“So now you speak for everyone at SVU?”

Sonny shrugged. “I’d like to think I do, at least when it comes to this.” Rafael shrugged but didn’t seem to want to push the issue, and Sonny waited for a moment before continuing, “But if you still think there’s still good to be done here, and if you still think that you can do it, then I somehow don’t think you’ll be happy doing something else.”

Rafael tilted his head slightly. “And we’re back to using the first person singular, I see.”

Sonny ignored him. “Am I wrong, Counselor?”

Rafael considered him for a moment, a small, soft smile crossing his face. “Seldom.”

Sonny tamped down the warmth that spread through him at that, hiding it behind a quick swig of beer. “So there you go,” he said, a little gruffly. “And whatever you decide—”

“I know,” Rafael said quietly.

They shared a long, measured look before both turning back to the bar, but this time, the silence that stretched between them threatened to be almost companionable.

Besides, Sonny wasn’t worried.

Rafael wouldn’t let the silence last long.


	34. 2019

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A...fix-it, I guess. Or at least a tiny little glimpse into a future that might not hurt as much as the present does (at least for me).

It's fall of 2019, and Barba supposes with two semesters of teaching at Fordham Law as an adjunct under his belt, he should really have a better handle on things, but instead, he's searching in his desk for that very specific piece of paper that he knows should be there.

A knock sounds on the door and he doesn't even look up from where he's sifting through the pile of papers yet to be graded. "My office hours are on Tuesdays and Thursdays," he says, by rote memorization now. "Or you can email me if you want to make an appointment—"

He breaks off, because the person standing in his doorway is laughing.

And he looks up to glare at whichever unfortunate student is dumb enough to be _laughing_ at him, and his heart stops.

Because there, leaning on his doorframe, arms crossed in front of his chest, badge shining on his hip, and those dimples a more welcome sight than Barba would ever admit, is Carisi.

He wants to have an appropriate snarky response queued up because he knows that's what Carisi is expecting, but he can't bring himself to. Instead, he breaks into a genuine smile and says, as earnest as Barba has probably ever been, "It's really good to see you, Sonny."

"And you, Counselor," Carisi says easily. Genuinely. "You look good."

Barba's expression softens somewhat. "Well, what can I say," he says with a chuckle. "Teaching suits me."

Sonny's grin widens. "Booyah, Fordham Law."

And Barba throws his head back and laughs.


	35. Mixtape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit of wholly necessary fluff.

"I—" Sonny turned the cassette tape over in his hands, the tracks of the mixtape all labeled in Rafael's cramped handwriting. "I mean, thanks Raf, but—"

"You don't like it," Rafael said, looking briefly crestfallen.

"No, God no, I love it," Sonny told him quickly. "I just, uh, I don't have a cassette player." Rafael looked pointedly at the dusty boombox sitting in the corner of the room and Sonny rolled his eyes. "Ok, yeah, but I'm not lugging that thing around with me when I wanna listen to this."

Rafael scowled. "You have _no_ taste," he snapped, and snatched the tape back from him.

"Hey, c'mon," Sonny protested. "Firstly, I have excellent taste, because I picked you, and secondly—"

He didn't get the secondly out before Rafael retreated into their bedroom, slamming the door behind him. "Drama queen," Sonny muttered.

"I heard that!" Rafael shouted through the closed door.

Sonny rolled his eyes and went to go get dinner ready.

Fifteen minutes later, Rafael emerged from the bedroom and all but threw his phone at Sonny, who barely managed to catch it. "What the hell—"

He glanced down at what was open on the phone, his expression instantly softening. "I made it into a Spotify playlist," Rafael informed him stiffly. "Since you have no appreciation for the classics."

"Again, I think the fact that I chose you would indicate otherwise," Sonny said, but it was with obvious affection, and he reached out and pulled Rafael to him, kissing him for a long moment before telling him, "I love it. And I love you. And thank you."

"Yeah, yeah," Rafael grumbled, but he was smiling. "I love you, too."

He started to pull away, but Sonny closed a hand around his wrist and held him in place. With the other, he clicked play on the playlist. "What are you doing?" Rafael asked suspiciously as Sonny took one hand in his and put his other hand on Rafael's back.

"Dancing with you," Sonny informed him blithely.

Rafael rolled his eyes and Sonny leaned in, his breath ghosting over Rafael's lips as he whispered, "C'mon, dance with me, Raf."

"No appreciation for the classics, and far too much appreciation for the cliche," Rafael informed him, even as his free hand found the small of Sonny's back and pulled him closer.

Sonny just laughed before humming off-key to the song as they swayed together in their tiny kitchen and their little piece of happiness.


	36. Trial Prep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you’re too emotionally compromised to write anything you’re supposed to and cope with your feelings by writing a revisionist version of the last episode where everything makes sense and Barba never left...

Carisi knocked on Barba’s office door and poked his head in. “We doing this in here?” he asked. **  
**

Barba glanced up at him. “Doing what?” he asked.

“Trial prep,” Carisi said, taking a step into Barba’s office. “I just figured we’d be in the courtroom…” He trailed off as something shifted in Barba’s expression. “What’s goin’ on?” he asked warily.

“Close the door, Detective,” Barba said, standing and smoothing his tie. Though Carisi followed the order, his confused expression didn’t change and Barba sighed before telling him, “I didn’t ask you here to do trial prep.”

Carisi expression dropped. “Why not?” he asked roughly, a challenge clear in his tone. “What are we doing here if not that?”

Barba sighed again. “Carisi...Sonny. You know that you can’t testify.”

“She’s my niece, Rafael—”

“Exactly.” Barba’s voice wasn’t sharp. In fact, there was something almost apologetic in his tone. “She’s your niece. And there’s no way I’m putting an emotionally compromised detective who should never have been a part of this investigation in the first place on the stand.”

Carisi stared at him. “I — I’m the outcry witness, you have to put me on the stand—”

“I don’t _have_ to do anything,” Barba told him, an edge in his voice for the first time. “Rollins took her statement at the hospital, and the results of the rape kit will speak for themselves.” Carisi shook his head slowly and Barba carefully crossed from around his desk, his expression neutral. “Mia doesn’t need you to be an outcry witness right now. She doesn’t need you to be a cop. She needs you to be her uncle, and to hold her hand, and to tell her that it’s all going to be ok.”

Carisi shook his head again, something in his expression turning urgent. “No, she needs me to, to say what happened. To say what she can’t. To—”

“To perjure yourself?”

Carisi froze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Barba cocked his head. “Don’t you?” he asked coolly. When Carisi didn’t say anything, Barba pressed, “Do you realize what would happen if you were on that stand, the questions that would be asked of you, the conversations with your niece about her regret over pursuing this that you’d be forced to recall? You would undermine her entire credibility, Sonny, or else you would lie. And neither of those are choices I want you to have to make.”

Carisi blinked, his eyes wet, and looked away. “I wouldn’t lie,” he said, his voice thick. “I — I couldn’t do that.”

“Then you would ruin what chance Mia has of getting the the justice she deserves.”

Barba’s voice was soft, almost gentle, and Carisi shook his head once more. Barba took a step towards him, and reached out, gently touching his arm. “Be there for her. Hold her hand in the courtroom. Stare down the bastard that did this. But don’t take the stand.”

For a long moment, Carisi was still, but then, slowly, he nodded. “Ok,” he said, his voice rough. “I won’t.”

“Good.”

Barba made no move to step away, and neither did Carisi, both comfortable with the space between them — or lack thereof. After another beat of silence, Carisi looked at Barba. “I’m sorry,” he offered.

“For what?” Barba asked, his brow furrowing.

Carisi shrugged. “For...for almost fucking this up.”

Barba managed a small smile, his hand sliding down Carisi’s arm to circle his wrist, the touch a little too familiar to be casual. “You have nothing to apologize for,” he said. “No one acts rationally when it comes to the people they love.”

“No one?” Carisi said questioningly, glancing from Barba’s hand back to him, the unspoken question speaking volumes far more than the one he voiced.

Barba’s smile widened, just for a moment. “You think anything about this was rational?” he asked. “If I were acting rationally, Sonny, I wouldn’t have called you here or given you a choice. I would’ve reported you to 1PP and gotten you suspended.”

“So why didn’t you?” Carisi asked, taking a step closer to him.

“Like I said,” Barba said softly, “no one acts rationally when it comes to the people they love.”

A moment of silence passed between them before Carisi ducked his head. “We should—”

“After,” Barba told him, with conviction, squeezing his hand before letting it go. “For now, you need to go be with your family.”

Carisi nodded. “Thank you,” he said, taking a step away for the first time.

“It’s my job,” Barba told him, but it was with a small, soft smile.

“In that case…” Carisi trailed off. “Nail the bastard, Counselor.”

“I will,” Barba promised. “I will.”


	37. Hangover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the wonderful ships_to_sail.
> 
> Established relationship, fluff.

“Good morning.” Rafael’s voice was low in Sonny’s ear, and on any other morning, it would’ve put a smile on Sonny’s face. 

 But not this morning, not when the sun was stabbing through Sonny’s closed eyelids and Rafael’s voice sounded less like the whisper it was and more like someone shouting directly into his ear. “Stop,” Sonny commanded, his voice scratchy and hoarse. “I think I’m dying.” 

Rafael laughed, still quietly, and kissed Sonny’s temple. “You’re hungover,” he corrected. 

Sonny cracked one bleary eye open to glare at him. “How?” he managed. 

“You know, I’m honestly not sure,” Rafael mused, scooching away from Sonny to recline on his side of the bed, reaching for his reading glasses. “If I had to guess, I’d bet it was the fourth tequila shot that really did it, but I can’t imagine the several shots of well whiskey that followed did much to help.” 

Sonny groaned and made as if to turn and bury his face in his pillow, but the motion made the pounding in his head worse. “And you let me?” he managed. 

“Sonny, if I thought there was a world in which I could somehow control your actions, your drinking isn’t where I’d start,” Rafael said, unfolding the newspaper and arching an eyebrow at Sonny when he only groaned again in response. “There’s aspirin on your nightstand, and water, but you’re going to have to roll over to get it.” Sonny’s arm twitched and Rafael looked back down at the newspaper, smirking. “Are you trying to flip me off?” 

“Yes,” Sonny ground out, taking a deep breath before finally turning over and reaching out for the aspirin with clammy fingers. He lifted the glass of water, popped the aspirin in his mouth and drained the glass in one long gulp, setting it back down before flopping back down on the bed. “God, I wanna die.” 

“Please don’t die,” Rafael said calmly, turning the newspaper page. “We have dinner with your parents tonight, and I’d really rather not have to go alone.”

Sonny groaned. “Can’t we cancel?” he asked hopefully, managing to move toward Rafael without feeling like he was going to puke. Or at least, not feeling like he was going to puke any more than he currently did. 

“If we’re cancelling, you’re the one who gets the pleasure of calling your mother and letting her know,” Rafael said mildly. 

Sonny whimpered and threw his arm over his eyes. “God, I’d rather die.” 

“Funny, I thought you were dying.” 

Sonny shifted his arm to glare at Rafael. “Can’t you have, like, any pity on me?” 

Rafael gave him an amused look. “I brought you water and aspirin, which is as much pity as you deserve when you did this to yourself.” 

Sonny’s lower lip stuck out in a pout. “At least come over here,” he wheedled. “Come on, you don’t want me puking on the good sheets.” 

“I pity you if you think 600-thread count are the good sheets,” Rafael muttered, but nonetheless obliged, sliding closer and letting Sonny pillow his head against Rafael’s stomach.

“They’re better than whatever I was using before,” Sonny said with a yawn, already feeling better with the Rafael’s solid warmth underneath his head. “Though I know that’s not saying much.” Rafael laughed lightly in agreement, setting the newspaper down and picking up his phone, Sonny tracking the motion with his eyes. “You know you can read the newspaper on your phone, right?” 

“It’s not the same,” Rafael said dismissively, resting one hand lightly on Sonny’s head. 

That felt good, so Sonny chose not to push the issue, instead closing his eyes and burrowing in a little closer. “What time is it anyway?” he asked. 

“Almost 10,” Rafael said offhandedly. “You have fifteen more minutes to feel sorry for yourself before I’m going to start complaining that you’re wasting the first day off we’ve shared in a month.” 

Sonny grunted in acknowledgement, his breathing evening out as he almost dozed back off. But even though it took his hungover brain a few minutes longer than usual, something finally clicked in the deep recesses of his mind, and he frowned. “Our first day we’ve shared,” he murmured, remembering the evening before, remembering that Rafael had been the one to suggest the squad go out, celebrate their recent wins and Amanda’s birthday, rather belatedly. “Oh my God,” Sonny said, trying to sit up and instantly regretting that choice. “Oh my _fucking_ God.” 

Rafael glanced down at him, amused. “Problem?” 

“You _scheduled_ my hangover,” Sonny said accusingly. “Didn’t you? You planned our night out with the squad for the evening before we both had a day off, knowing that I’d feel like shit the next day.”

“It’s called adulthood, Sonny,” Rafael told him dryly. “You might want to try it sometime.” He paused before running his fingers casually through Sonny’s hair. “Besides, you know as well as I do that you’re absolutely worthless when you’re hungover, and it didn’t seem fair to inflict that on the squad. Of course,” he added thoughtfully, “you could always act like the 38-year-old man you are instead of a 22-year-old college student hell-bent on cirrhosis by the time you hit 40.” 

“It’s not my fault that you can somehow drink scotch like water,” Sonny whined, squinting up at Rafael. “And don’t change the subject. You _planned_ this.” 

Rafael frowned down at him. “I took necessary precautions in case you, again, decided to act—” 

“—Like a 22-year old college student, yeah, I got it, you’re a regular stand-up comedian,” Sonny grumbled. “And again, you’re changing the subject.” He paused before smiling, just slightly. “You wanted to take care of me, didn’t you.”

Rafael rolled his eyes. “I brought you water and an aspirin,” he sniffed. “I’d hardly consider that taking care of you.” 

But Sonny’s grin widened. “Nah, I know you better than that,” he said. “You turned the alarm off. You didn’t schedule anything for this morning. And you even let me plan the world’s best hangover cure for tonight, my ma’s lasagna.” He looked up at Rafael, his smile softening. “You love me and you wanted to take care of me.” 

Though Rafael returned his smile, it was slightly exasperated. “Yes, Sonny, I love you. That was the point of that whole wedding thing we had, if you might remember. Besides…” He trailed off, something softening in his own expression. “You’ve taken care of me often enough. Seemed only right I return the favor.”

“You love me,” Sonny repeated happily, closing his eyes and only aware that Rafael had rolled his eyes again by the way his stomach muscles moved under his head. 

“Yes, because that’s all you got out of that,” Rafael said with fond exasperation, stroking Sonny’s hair again. Sonny just hummed an affirmative and Rafael laughed lightly, leaning down to kiss Sonny’s forehead. “You have ten minutes before I start complaining that you’re wasting the day,” he whispered. 

“This isn’t wasting anything,” Sonny told him without opening his eyes, and Rafael laughed again. 

“Well, when you put it like that,” he mused, “I suppose you’re not wrong.”


	38. Sidekick

“Can we agree that if I were any of the Avengers, I’d be Tony Stark?” Rafael asked as he and Sonny walked out of the movie theater, hand in hand.

Sonny snorted. “Short, sarcastic asshole with a proclivity for alcohol. Sure, seems fair.” He smirked at Rafael. “Too bad you’re missing out on the whole ‘billionaire playboy philanthropist’ thing.”

“First and foremost, you and I both know that while I don’t quite meet your generous levels of tithing, I do my best to be philanthropic,” Rafael said mildly. “Secondly, don’t think I didn’t notice that you conspicuously left ‘genius’ out of that quote.”

“Yeah, well, I try not to make an argument I can’t prove,” Sonny said. “Some genius lawyer or other taught me that.”

He took Rafael’s hand as they started slowly down the street, and Rafael glanced up at him. “So what Avenger would you be?” he asked, his tone teasing. “Captain America? Doctor Strange? Thor?”

Sonny laughed and shook his head. “Nah,” he said off-handedly. “I’d probably be...I dunno, Groot, maybe.”

Rafael’s eyes narrowed. “Groot?” he repeated, slightly incredulous. “How exactly did you land on Groot?”

“Well, you know,” Sonny said, his tone light, but almost deceptively so, “I’ve been told that I’m like a beanpole, which is pretty close to a tree—”

“Your mother said that the last time she was trying to foist leftovers onto you, that hardly counts,” Rafael scoffed.

“And, you know, more than one person’s accused me of talking funny, including you,” Sonny finished.

Rafael frowned. “Funny doesn’t exactly seem like a word I would use to describe that atrocious sound you call an accent,” he said.

“Thanks for proving my point,” Sonny said, rolling his eyes.

“And thanks for deflecting,” Rafael said pointedly. “What is all this about, anyway? Don’t pretend like you didn’t dress up as Captain America or Spider-Man or whichever nerdy hero for New York Comic Con.”

“Dressing up is one thing,” Sonny said, a little too sharp to be joking. “Doesn’t change the fact that I’m pretty far from heroic in my own life. If anything, I’ve been relegated to the role of sidekick.”

He broke off, the back of his neck flushed red with embarrassment, as if he said more than he meant to. Rafael bit back his initial retort, instead taking a moment to study Sonny closely. “I have a feeling this is about more than the emotional aftermath of watching the Avengers,” he said evenly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I dunno if there’s anything to talk about,” Sonny said, scuffing his toe against the ground and distinctly not meeting Rafael’s eyes. “I just…” He shrugged, staring off into the distance. “Do you know the last time was when I was lead on a case?” 

Rafael’s brow furrowed. “No,” he admitted quietly.

Sonny half-smiled, though there was no joy in it. “Yeah, me neither.” He shook his head. “Somedays I feel like everyone still looks like I’m that rookie detective from Staten Island with a terrible mustache and a tendency to run my mouth.”

“Well, in fairness, you do still have a tendency to run your mouth,” Rafael said, but his tone was gentle, and he nudged Sonny to show he was joking. “Want me to talk to Liv?”

“What? No!” Sonny threw Rafael a look. “I’m not gonna have my boyfriend speak to my boss like I’m a kid who needs my dad to talk to my teacher.” Rafael’s lips quirked and Sonny’s scowl deepened. “And don’t even make a ‘daddy’ joke right now.”

“Spoilsport,” Rafael muttered, but there was something calculating behind the gentle look he gave Sonny. “Is there anything that I can do to help?”

Sonny shrugged again. “I dunno,” he admitted. “I dunno if there is anything to do about it. And besides...maybe it’s fine being the sidekick. Someone’s gotta do it, you know?”

Rafael bit back his initial, angry retort that Sonny was anything but a sidekick, instead weaving his fingers firmly with Sonny’s and squeezing his hand gently. “Well, for what it’s worth, and I’m certain it’s worth very little, you’re a hero to me.”

Sonny rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but you  _ have _ to say that.”

“Yes, because of all my many charms, taking the time to blow smoke up your ass is high on the list,” Rafael said dryly, giving Sonny a look. “I mean it, Sonny. Don’t think I don’t remember who was lead on my death threats case.”

“Ok, but that was mostly by default,” Sonny protested half-heartedly. “You know, because of Dodds—” He broke off, a brief flash of pain crossing his face the way it always did when he mentioned Dodds, and Rafael squeezed his hand once more. Sonny ducked his head and cleared his throat. “And, you know, because Amanda and Fin didn’t wanna do it,” he finished with forced levity.

Rafael shrugged. “Even if you were only lead by default, that doesn’t change the fact that you were the one who handled the case.”

“Also don’t change the fact that I never found whoever was sending them,” Sonny reminded him.

“Nor does it change the fact that the threats stopped once you were on the case,” Rafael pointed out evenly. His lips twitched. “After all, who would dare try anything with Detective Dominick Carisi Jr. on the case?”

Sonny’s eyes narrowed. “I can’t tell if you trying to be patronizing or give me a compliment.”

“Are the two mutually exclusive?” Rafael asked with a grin. When Sonny just gave him a look, Rafael sighed. “Fine, I was aiming for sincere but apparently landed somewhere among patronizing, but the broader point still stands: you very likely saved my life.”

“You have absolutely no way of knowing that,” Sonny told him flatly.

Rafael arched an eyebrow. “And you have absolutely no evidence to the contrary. Prosecution rests, Counselor.”

Sonny snorted a laugh and shook his head slowly. “And that is why the world hates lawyers,” he said conversationally, even as he put an arm around Rafael’s shoulders and tugged him close to kiss his temple.

“Good thing you’re not the world, then,” Rafael told him, tilting his head up for a kiss.

“Something like that anyway,” Sonny said with a laugh.

They walked together in silence for a long moment before Rafael glanced up at him. “You know I mean it, though, right?”

Sonny cocked his head. “Which part?” he asked lightly. “The patronizing part? Because no shit, but I’m used to it by now.”

“Funny,” Rafael said. “I meant the part where you’re my hero.” Sonny sighed but Rafael didn’t let him interrupt. “And I’d say it’s highly probable that you’re also the hero to a great many people who you’ve helped save over the years. None of them would look at you and think you were just a sidekick.”

“Raf—” Sonny sighed, but Rafael didn’t stop.

“And then there’s the other thing,” he told Sonny, looking up at him. “There’s the fact that you do the job you do every single day, and you still find a way to come home to me and try to make me smile. You work an eighteen hour shift hunting the city’s worst monsters and come home and make lasagna. You listen to a jury make the stupidest choice possible and fail to convict a monster, and you still find it in yourself to smile at me because you know I need to remember there’s some good in the world.” Rafael stopped and Sonny stopped as well, turning to face him, his expression soft. “You’re still a good man in a world that wants nothing more than to take that from you, and that’s as heroic as it comes.”

Sonny shook his head just slightly before leaning in and kissing Rafael lightly. “You’re a big softie, you know that?”

Rafael laughed lightly. “Because of course  _ that’s _ what you’d get out of it,” he said dryly. “Besides, just try telling someone that. No one would believe you.”

“Fair enough,” Sonny said, kissing him once more. “I love you, and thank you.”

“What can I say, as a hero, I see someone in distress, and it’s my duty to help them,” Rafael said breezily, and Sonny rolled his eyes. “Kidding, of course. Now come on, hero, let’s go home.”

Together, they started walking, Sonny humming lightly under his breath, and Rafael glanced over at him, amused. “Are you humming ‘Holding Out for a Hero’?” he asked.

“Maybe,” Sonny said with a smirk. “Why?”

“Oh nothing,” Rafael said, rolling his eyes. “I just didn’t think you could get any gayer.”

“Rude,” Sonny laughed. “But you’re probably not wrong.”

“I very seldom am,” Rafael told him smugly.

Sonny snorted. “See, when you talk like that, you sound less like a hero and more like a supervillain.”

Rafael considered that for a moment. “I’ll take it,” he said decisively. “After all, just like lawyers, the world hates supervillains.”

“Yeah,” Sonny said, tugging Rafael close and kissing him once more. “Good thing I’m not the world.”


	39. The Good Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The start of an AU that frankly I'm just too lazy to actually turn into anything more.
> 
> The Good Place AU.

“Rafael? Come on in.” **  
**

Rafael blinked up at the man smiling beatifically at him and stood automatically, following the man into his office. The man gestured for Rafael to take a seat across from him and then sat down himself. “Hi Rafael, my name’s Jack McCoy. How are you?”

“I’m great,” Rafael said, again, seemingly automatically. He glanced around the office, which looked exactly like every office he had ever been in. “One question, though: where am I, who are you, and what’s going on?”

Jack smiled at him. “Right. So, you, Rafael Barba, are dead. Your life on Earth has ended, and you are now in the next phase of your existence in the universe.”

Rafael had a feeling he should’ve been panicking at that, but he couldn’t seem to muster the emotion, so he settled for nodding. “Right.” He paused. “I have some questions.”

Jack’s smile widened. “Thought you might.”

“How did I die?” Rafael asked, though that was one of the least of his questions. “I don’t remember.”

To his surprise, Jack looked almost embarrassed at the question, glancing down at the clipboard on his desk. “Yes, well, in cases of traumatic, embarrassing, or sudden death, we erase the memory, which can be upsetting.” He glanced back at Rafael. “Are you sure you want to hear it?” Rafael nodded and Jack cleared his throat. “You were crossing Hogan Place when you dropped your Blackberry, and when you bent over to pick it up, the Uber you had just ordered plowed into you.”

“Oh boy,” Rafael said, with something like detached fascination.

Jack winced. “You were able to grip the front of the Uber, but it dragged you into oncoming traffic, where you were struck and killed by a tourist on a segway tour.”

Rafael stared at him. “That’s…” He snorted. “That’s awful.”

“It’s not great,” Jack agreed. “But if it makes you feel better, there have been—” He checked the clipboard. “927,605 more-embarrassing deaths in history.”

Rafael nodded, though he honestly wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or not. “So, who was right?” Jack blinked and Rafael waved an impatient hand. “About all of this, I mean. I was raised Catholic — did we actually get anything right?”

Jack shrugged. “Not really,” he said. “The Hindus are a little bit right, the Muslims are a little bit right, the Jews, Christians, Buddhists — basically, every religion guessed about 5% of it.” He paused. “Except for John Munch.”

“Who’s John Munch?” Rafael asked, curious.

Jack grinned. “He was this totally paranoid cop who lived in Baltimore in the 90s. One night when he was on patrol, his partner asked him what he thinks happens after we die, and Munch launched into this long monologue, and he got like 92% of it correct.” He shook his head, chuckling. “I mean, we couldn’t believe what we were hearing.”

“Wow,” Rafael said mildly. “Then what happened?”

Jack shrugged. “No one believed him and he moved to Manhattan not too long after that. That’s him right there—” He pointed to a framed picture on the wall with a plaque that read ‘JOHN MUNCH, MARYLAND, CLOSEST GUESS 01/31/93’.

Rafael shook his head, but for the first time, it was finally starting to sink in. “Wow,” he said again, “So I’m — I’m really dead. Does that mean…” He hesitated, glancing up at Jack. “Does that mean I’m...where I think I am?”

“Well, it’s not the ‘heaven’ and ‘hell’ idea you were raised on,” Jack hedged. “But generally speaking, in the afterlife, there’s a good place, and a bad place.” He gave Rafael another warm smile. “You’re ok, Rafael. You’re in the good place.”

Rafael smiled as well, a little relieved. “Well, that’s...good.”

Jack stood abruptly. “Sure is! Now, I know you’re going to have a million more questions, or, more accurately, 6,208 more questions, but everything will be answered in due time, I promise. For now, just come this way.”

He led Rafael from his office and out in the bright sunshine of a cheerful looking town square. “So are you God?” Rafael asked, and Jack laughed.

“No, no, there are many levels above me before Executive Producer Dick Wolf. But I’m just a sort of...helper, I guess you’d say.” He gestured around the town square. “My job was to design this neighborhood.” They walked together toward a gathering of people in front of a small stage. “The Good Place is divided into distinct neighborhoods, each one containing exactly 334 people.”

“Why 334?” Rafael interrupted.

Jack waved a dismissive hand. “It’s just — it’s the perfect number of people. Trust me, we’re omniscient. There are thousands of neighborhoods, each one a unique, flawless system, created expressly for 334 perfectly-matched human souls, blended together in blissful harmony.”

“Wow,” Rafael repeated, for what felt like the tenth time that day.

Jack smiled and gesture for Rafael to take a seat in front of the stage before striding in front of the crowd. “Hello, everyone, and welcome to your first day in the afterlife! You were all, simply-put, good people who lived good lives. But how do we know that you lived good lives? How can we be sure?” A video screen appeared out of thin air, with a cute little animation playing as Jack continued, “During your time on Earth, every one of your actions carried with it a positive or negative value, depending on how much good or bad that action put into the universe. Save a child from certain death? Great job! That’s plus-1200 points! Poison a river with deadly chemicals? Uh oh — that’s negative 4610! But it’s not only big things: every sandwich you ate, every time you bought a magazine...Every single thing you did created some amount of bad or good — intentionally or accidentally — and it counted.”

Rafael felt his smile slip, just for a moment, but Jack didn’t seem to notice. “When your time on Earth ends, we calculate the total value of your life. The measuring system is too complex for you to understand, but trust me, it’s perfectly accurate. Only the people with the very highest scores — the true cream of the crop — get to come here...to the Good Place!” He paused before quickly adding, “And everyone else goes to the Bad Place to be tortured for eternity.”

He cleared his throat and pasted his smile back on. “So! You are here because you lived one of the very best lives that could be lived. Now you will reap the rewards of that good life. And you won’t be alone! Your true soulmate is here too! That’s right — soulmates are real. One of the other people in your Neighborhood is your actual soulmate, and each pair of soulmates will spend eternity together!”

He turned to beam at the audience. “So welcome to eternal happiness. Welcome...to The Good Place!”

After the presentation, Jack took Rafael to a small house that looked like something out of an idyllic suburb, right down to the white picket fence. “Welcome to your new home,” Jack told Rafael, holding the fence gate open for him.

“Who built this?” Rafael asked curiously, following Jack inside.

Jack chuckled. “You built this,” he said. “It came into existence because of the essence of who you are.” He gestured around the open concept first floor. “You see, ‘paradise’ doesn’t mean everyone has the exact same things. It means that every individual gets his or her own perfect existence.”

Rafael glanced around the cozy living room. “And I guess that’s why my house is like this, instead of like that apartment building I saw next door.”

“Exactly!” Jack said, beaming. “As you can see, the interior has been decorated just as you like it, like a perfect, suburban family home.” He gestured to a wall featuring impressionist style paintings of landscapes. “And obviously you love the peaceful nature of impressionist paintings.”

“I sure do,” Rafael murmured.

“Right!” Jack said. “If you loved sailing, these would be paintings of sailboats.”

Rafael nodded slowly. “Kind of makes me wish I had loved something besides impressionist landscapes. Like naked Channing Tatum.”

Jack just laughed. “Your soulmate has his own place, of course, and if you want to move in together, obviously you can. It’s totally up to you.” He nodded toward a screen on the wall. “Now, this video system is the best part. You can watch any event from history, from any angle. You can also watch everything that happened in your own life…”

He turned the system on, showing a menu screen titled RAFAEL BARBA LIFE AND MEMORIES, and scrolled to a folder labeled HAPPY MEMORIES, and a sub-folder titled MOST FULFILLING MEMORIES, and selected the first option.

A video filled the screen, clearly from Rafael’s point of view, as he reached out and took the hand of woman with a fading bruise around one eye seated across from him. “This was from one of your most recent trials,” Jack told him. “A woman who was brutally assaulted, and you put the perpetrator behind bars for life. That got you tons of points, really put you over the top.”

Rafael nodded slowly as he watched the memory play out. Just as it ended, a knock sounded on the door. “Come in, Sonny!” Jack called.

A tall, gorgeous man with graying wheat-colored hair strolled into the room, beaming when he saw Rafael, dimples creasing his cheeks. “Rafael Barba?” he asked eagerly, crossing over to shake Rafael’s hand. “I’m Dominick Carisi Jr. — call me Sonny. You’re my soulmate.”

He sounded so happy that Rafael couldn’t help but smile at him as well. “Well that’s...great,” he said, laughing lightly, not dropping Sonny’s hand.

Jack cleared his throat. “I’ll let you two get acquainted,” he said happily, letting himself out.

Rafael finally let go of Sonny’s hand and gestured toward the large, comfortable-looking couch, and they both sat. “So,” Rafael started, a little awkwardly, “where are you from?”

“Well, originally from Staten Island,” Sonny said, “but I lived all over the city. How about you?”

“South Bronx born and raised before ending in Manhattan,” Rafael told him, cocking his head slightly. “I’m surprised you don’t have much of an accent.”

Sonny waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, I think this place just translates whatever you say into a way the other person can understand.” He winked at Rafael. “And I don’t know what you have against Staten Island accents, but apparently it’s gotten rid of it for you.”

Rafael laughed lightly, surprised when Sonny reached out to take his hand. “Listen, I spent my whole life trying to help people. That’s why I was a cop. And knowing you, knowing you were a kick-ass ADA — we’ve got the whole rest of time to spend together helping anyone who needs it.”

Rafael swallowed, hard, his smile fading. “Sonny,” he started carefully, “if you are my soulmate, that means that you would never hurt me for any reason, right?”

Sonny’s forehead creased and he frowned. “Of course not,” he scoffed, but Rafael shook his head.

“Promise me,” he said, his voice low, urgent. “Say, ‘I promise I will never betray you’.”

Sonny raised an eyebrow and stood, crossing to the bookshelf and plucking what looked like the Bible from its shelves. He returned to the couch and placed one hand on the Bible before raising the other solemnly. “I swear, on all of the forces in the universe, that I never say or do anything to cause you any harm.”

For the first time since arriving, Rafael felt like he was able to exhale. “Good,” he said, with something like relief. “Because those aren’t my memories. I wasn’t a prosecutor, I was a defense attorney and I spent my entire career keeping criminals out of jail. And I hate the suburbs.”

He took a deep breath. “I think there’s been a mistake. I’m not supposed to be here.”


End file.
